


The Line

by Malice_and_Macarons



Series: Monochrome Universe [3]
Category: DCU
Genre: And they're all either messing things up or telling people to stop messing things up, Canon-Typical Violence, Flash - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Pretty much everyone is here - Freeform, Slow Build, mixed universes, plot heavy, rogues - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-07-13 20:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 76,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7136435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malice_and_Macarons/pseuds/Malice_and_Macarons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce is constantly frustrated with Clark's blatant lack of concern when it comes to his own safety. The Man of Steel is a cute title and all, but that doesn't give him a get out jail free card for everything in the universe that frequently tries to kill them.<br/>He didn't necessarily want his point proven so thoroughly when Luthor gets himself involved and things spiral far out of his control. Now they're getting sick, very sick.</p><p>Clark just wants to believe in others even if they don't see it themselves. Is that so horribly wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look at that, now it's Bruce and Clark's turn. The first monochrome story focused on Hal, Barry and Noire. So this time it's Clark, Bruce and Alois. Have fun with that.
> 
> Maybe some gay....probably some gay. I can't help it.

 

There was something to be said for the uncanny ability heroes had to draw out the extremes in people. 

Superman would always happily claim that they could bring out the best. Things like hope and compassion – the sort of feelings that could push regular every day people to work together to overcome great evils. It had happened before, a single hero being the uniting force for a mass of people – a movement driven purely by a mutual belief set. Superman had been there, seen it and felt it warm his heart time and time again.

However there was always the alternative to leave a sour taste in his mouth.

It was so easy to forget just how much good they could inspire in humanity when there were people like the Joker running around – symbolizing the opposite extreme. The living, breathing evidence of the absolute worst heroes could bring out in humanity – the opposition of that mutual belief.

For as long as Superman could remember there had always been that answering cruelty, responding to the good that heroes brought with them.

Perhaps it was not entirely incorrect to place the blame for such criminals on the heroes. Without one there wouldn’t be the other – that’s what the television would say. It was never the fault of the people, or the country – it was the failings of one outsider, one person who did something that the others did not. It was a pack mentality, the same pack mentality that could similarly drive the best of humanity. 

Superman didn’t understand. 

If great good could inspire such horrendous evil – was it really the best choice to try and stop the good from ever surfacing? Some of his planet seemed to think so.

His planet.

The thought was so affectionate and natural that Superman managed a small smile when it crossed his mind. For all its faults, its bickering and disagreements – Earth was still his planet. His home.

“Superman.” The com in his ear suddenly crackled into life, bringing with it a familiar, impatient growl. Superman answered with a laugh.

“I hear you Batman – what’s the emergency?” 

“Don’t make light.” Batman snarled back, his voice carrying through the grainy transmission with ease. Sometimes Superman found the static background interfered with his teammates messages but Batman’s steely voice always cut through it with ease. 

Superman smiled to himself. Even the failings of modern technology were no match for their cranky bat.

“You’re needed in Central City.”

A frown creased the hero’s face, wiping away that smile and his hand finally lifted to the earpiece to hold it in a little more firmly, like that would make it easier to communicate.

“Central?” He repeated uncertainly. “Where is Flash? That’s his home turf.” 

“Already there.” Batman answered flatly and Superman’s brows knitted together more tightly. “Flash has asked for reinforcements, he’s been injured and is not currently capable of rounding up his Rogues gallery while also babysitting his novice.”

“That’s a pretty harsh choice of words Batman.” Even as the observation was made with a hint of teasing, Superman was heading back towards the planet, his trajectory changing from Metropolis to Central. He estimated arrival in seven minutes; he’d only gone up into the sky for a quick moment of peace, hardly deep enough to cost him any real time. 

“Superman.” The man growled in his ear warningly.

“I’m already heading there, Batman – I’m on it.” There was an affirmative grunt from the Dark Knight before the line went silent again. If Superman hadn’t know any better he would have thought the man had disconnected it was so quiet but he knew that Batman wouldn’t have left after having just given him direction. He’d wait till Superman was there or until he decided that the man _should_ be there before speaking up again. 

The moment Superman entered the boundaries of Central City from above he heard exactly what the all fuss was. Focusing on a single sound in the rest of a constantly noisy world could be difficult even after years of practice, but today any human at this distance could have heard the commotion in Central City.

It was the details that only he could pick out that separated the chaos humans heard and the clarity with which he found its source. Beyond the wailing of a bank alarm and the screeching of cars trying to narrowly avoid joining those unfortunate enough to be caught up in what seemed to be a heist turned nasty – there were voices. 

Muffled and almost completely drowned out by the surrounding commotion, but Superman focused on them easily because they were familiar to him. He could hear the Flash’s heartbeat, racing almost as fast as the man himself moved. It was such a distinct sound that Superman could have pinpointed it from anywhere within the country. His voice carried a similar uniqueness to it.

“Ha—Really, I’m fine kid. These guys got nothing on me.” Flash didn’t _sound_ fine. The slight hitch in his breath caused by pain was hidden well enough but whomever he was talking to most certainly hadn’t missed it.

Remembering what Batman had said about the Flash being injured, Superman made a beeline for the man. Following that rapid heartbeat to his friend as fast as he could. 

Hmpf. Barry would have called him slow.

“Superman.” Batman’s voice once again came through the earpiece with an alarming cackle. “Have you got a visual on the Flash yet?”

“Almost.” Superman replied almost dismissively. He knew he had to do better than ‘almost’ to please the man. The Bat wasn’t even halfway through forming the first angry syllable when Superman laid eyes on the red speedster.

“Batman, I got him.”

When he’d said injured Superman hadn’t quite expected the extent of the injury. The Flash and his ‘novice’ were crouched down behind an unfortunate car that had been upturned at some point in the whole disaster. The league member was still holding onto a grin even as his hands pressed firmly down on his leg. 

The red fabric of his suit had been singed and Superman could see that the Flash’s skin had been badly burnt where the fabric gave away, leaving him vulnerable. 

“I’ll be fine in just a sec – I heal fast, remember?” He heard the Flash tell the smaller male with him. Superman wasn’t surprised to see Monochrome Black with the Flash. They’d become something of a reluctant pair recently. The Flash’s insistence that the young man stay out of vigilantism had been overcome in the previous month and after some recovery time – he’d started to take Black out with him to fight crime.

All minor crimes Superman had noticed. Nothing bigger than a stolen purse or cat from a tree – baby steps for the Flash it seemed. It was the closest the man had ever come to moving slowly with something. The Flash had been keeping his novice on easy, safe jobs for the past few weeks.

At least until today. This was no simple backstreet thug arrest. 

Superman began to float down towards the pair, keeping an eye out for any immediate threats. The first to notice him was not Flash but Black and while he realized someone was nearing them it seemed Black was still too inexperienced to remember to check who it was before reacting. 

“Stay back!” No sooner than the shout came out of the small male, Superman found himself being bombarded with at least twenty different black spears. They were large, clumsy and formed out of panic rather than any type of skill or planning.

For the most part they were easy to evade in the air but while the attack was inelegant, it was vicious. The onslaught caught Superman by surprise, Black wasn’t a league member but he was still in a sense an ally and Superman had not expected an attack from him.

The boy got one lucky shot in, a single spear striking Superman’s shoulder, bounding off his body with a considerable impact. Superman staggered back a few inches in the air, able to feel the force of the blow but it was not quite painful. It hadn’t cut him or impaled Superman’s body like it would have a human.

“Monochrome Black!” A voice barked out of Superman’s earpiece – evidentially Batman had found the time to implement a speaker. Was there nothing he could not manage, where did he find the time in all his brooding? “ _Look_ at who you are attacking.”

Abruptly the boy’s head jerked up, hands still held out before him in the motion he’d used to create the spikes that might have killed a lesser creature. His eyes were wide with panic and Superman couldn’t decipher if it was the situation in general, the identity of the person he’d lashed out at, or Batman’s voice that had the boy looking so spooked. 

If he absolutely had to choose one, Superman would have guessed it was hearing Batman.

“S-Superman, I…” The boy stuttered, apology clear in his panicked tone. In response Superman just smiled at the young man, he was near invincible – what were a few useless blows between teammates?

Still, magic carried with it a sting that even Superman was weary of. Noire wasn’t terribly powerful and there was no reason to fear his outburst – but the throb in his shoulder reminded Superman of why he detested fighting magic in the first place.

“It’s alright, lad.” Superman landed effortlessly in front of the pair, taking a few casual steps forward to clap his hand on Black’s shoulder reassuringly.

“We will discuss your recklessness at another time, Monochrome Black.” Batman’s voice chimed in threateningly, overruling Superman’s reassurance and all the man could do was offer Black a sympathetic glance before turning his gaze on the downed Flash.

For his part the scarlet speedster looked every bit ready to get up and try again – injured leg be damned. He also didn’t seem put off by Superman’s appearance and smiled at the hero as he approached – it was nice to be greeted without a growl when he came to offering help. Batman could learn a thing or two if he just let Barry teach him.

“What’s the situation?” Superman asked, trying his best not to growl the question like Batman would. It was just a formality.

“The usual.” Flash answered with a dry chuckle. “The Rogues are up to their old tricks. The bank two blocks back was robbed exactly two minutes before the one opposite us. They’ve hit another location on the far end of the city.”

“That’s a pretty excessive heist for them.” From what he knew of the Rogues, they didn’t do much other than steal – they didn’t kill where they could help it. Superman wished some of his villains would look to them for guidance. If they couldn’t stop being bad they could at least try to be _less_ bad. 

“This is just the distraction.” Flash answered grimly, looking over at the torn up street. There were places where the ground had been shredded up and singed hunks of the upturned cement lay strew around unceremoniously. The cars that had been abandoned hadn’t faired much better, the street looked a wreck. 

But besides a few places in the buildings where it seemed their scuffle had become airborne and someone had smashed through the odd wall, the damage to the civilian structures was minimal. It almost seemed like whatever had damaged them had done so by accident and then purposefully avoided them in favour for unoccupied land.

“Flash, has anyone else been injured? Hostages, civilian casualties?” 

The red suited man simply shook his head, hands pressing more firmly down on his injured leg. The smell of his burnt flesh was almost foul enough to make Superman’s face screw up. He forced his muscles to remain lax so as not to offend the Flash by accident. It was hardly his fault human flesh smelt terrible when it was smouldering.

“Not one – just lucky ol’ me.” Flash confirmed grimly, it was obvious he was in some pain but wouldn’t voice his complaints.

After having been in more fights than he could remember, Superman had become accustomed to spotting certain patterns in battle. This was an enemy that avoided hurting civilians – which could mean two things. They were true to their word about not killing innocents, or their goal was not destruction so much as it was an individual and the only person injured here was the Flash.

No sooner than the thought clicked into place in Superman’s head, a loud explosion to his back caught the hero by surprise. The force of the blast knocked Black back into the car he and Flash had been huddled against when Superman arrived. Thankfully the Flash was already braced against it and only scooted back a few inches as the car squealed and crept back from the explosion.

Superman had been just a bit closer and no more prepared for the blast than the other two. He was knocked to the ground, not registering any greater pain than a simple thump to the back but still surprised he’d been forced down at all. It took the man a moment to realize that it wasn’t something behind him that had exploded but rather the explosion had come from something striking _him_ with great force. Someone had managed to land a solid hit on him.

“Black!” His ears were buzzing just a bit, making the Flash’s urgent call sound as though it was fighting its way through static. It didn’t help that Batman’s voice was also buzzing in his ear, trying to get a confirmation that he was okay out of him.

He had not realized just how jarring the blow had really been before the dull aching and burning began to set in. Slow at first but growing with each passing second – Superman recognized the ache as magic. It felt very much like he’d just been stung, the heat of the blow increasing the longer he stayed down. 

With Superman out of commission for at least a few seconds the assailant moved in. Swooping down out of the sky, falling quickly into a crouch as he looked for his actual target – big blue was just in the way. Immediately the male’s eyes came to rest on the two heroes against the car – one standing protectively over the other. Despite himself White smirked at the protective stance.

His big brother was still so cute.

“White. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His brother was snarling at him, the usual unfriendly greeting. Paying it no mind White approached his brother and the fallen speedster.

He’d managed to nick one of the hero’s legs, he’d heal quickly so White had to kill him before he had the chance to get back up. But there was his idiot big brother, standing in the way. 

“Hush now, Black – let the adults talk for just a moment.” With a careless flick of his wrist, White called up the light construct he’d used to strike Superman down only seconds ago. The formation took shape as a familiar scorpion tail, the tip still dripping globs of what would have been poison in a real scorpion tail.

White saw his brother’s eyes widen when he saw it, no doubt he remembered how its sting felt against his own back. Not feeling the need to give Black an extensive reminder, White simply whipped himself around on spot, sending the tail lashing out at the weaker monochrome brother. It hit Black’s chest with a dull thud that sounded dangerously close to rib breaking force and the strike sent his brother flying into a nearby wall – well away from the Flash.

White didn’t bother turning to see where his brother had landed. The distant sound of a wall breaking under the force of Black’s body colliding with it was enough for White to be sure he would be down for long enough.

“Black! Hey, Black answer me!” Of course the Flash shot up when he saw the younger man go flying. White couldn’t decide if that protective reaction infuriated or pleased him. 

He watched the Flash try to run to his ward’s side, only to put weight on the injured leg and go down with it again. With a snarl of frustration and just a hint of pain, the speedster turned his furious eyes on White. 

“I suppose I ought to thank you, for looking after my brother as long as you did.” As he approached the injured Flash, White decided that he did want to thank the man for his protectiveness. It had served his big brother well while White was away. He might not particularly like the Flash and would not mourn his passing – but he should still be thankful for all the man had done for his idiot brother.

“As thanks.” White continued casually. Ignoring the way the Flash tried to scramble back from his approach, to buy more time for his damaged leg to heal. He wouldn’t be able to buy enough. “I’ll make it quick.”

He could see the confusion, the panic in the Flash’s eyes as he tried to figure out just why this was happening. After all White had never made an attempt to do anything outside of occasionally fight with his brother or aid the Rogues in a robbery – attempting to kill someone, even the Flash, was not in his MO. 

There was no point telling the Flash why he’d done this. He’d taken a page out of Cold’s book and planned this to perfection. Using the heists as a distraction, pulling the Flash out when he had to account for Black’s inexperience – he’d even maimed him just as planned.

No turning back now.

Throwing his arm up high into the air, White brought back the scorpion tail, allowing it to arch over his body. It was poised to strike down on the Flash, spear him through the heart and kill him before he had the chance to heal. 

There was a morbid curiosity circling White’s mind. Speedsters healed awfully fast, if he tore the man’s chest open would it try to stitch itself back shut? Just how hard would his body fight to keep the speedster alive before it finally gave out? White would not stop striking until his chest was entirely carved out – just to be sure.

“Flash, I…” Alois paused; he could hear Black beginning to struggle his way out of the rubble White had thrown him into. But he didn't hurry – it felt too soon.

There was just something not quite right about this. He’d planned it all out, imagined it all countless times but as he stood there, at the end of his plans – it didn’t feel like he’d imagined it would. It felt like he should say _something_ more to the man staring up at him – like he owed him that much.

“I’m sorry.” The apology slipped out in a whisper, almost as though Alois hadn’t meant to say it at all. But it was a fleeting moment of hesitation and White felt as though it was the thing he’d needed to say to proceed.

This was just how it had to be.

With a fall of his arm and a whistle as the tail struck through the air to imbed itself inside the Flash’s chest, White ignored his own apology. 

The scorpion’s strike never met pliable human flesh; instead it struck sturdy, unyielding alien skin. The solid force White had met with caused a painful jarring sensation to shoot up his arm, echoing dully in his bones as if he’d just hit a brick wall. 

Alarmed White did not immediately realize what had happened, couldn't make sense of why he was suddenly staring at red, white and blue instead of just red. 

“Now kid…” Then he tensed when he recognized the voice. Superman was back up. “Let’s not play too rough here.”

The cold dread coiled in White’s stomach as he stared at the man who had caught his scorpion tail like it was nothing. Perhaps it burned him a little to hold but Superman showed no difficulty in keeping it away from its target. Then just as easily as he’d caught White’s favoured weapon, he broke it. The construct shattering like it had always been as fragile as glass. 

“No…” Horror laced the single word as White backed away from the Flash’s savior. “No. _No_. This is my best chance, I won’t let you ruin it!” 

The shattered remains of the tail jerked back, slipping out of Superman’s fingers as White pulled back with it. Parts of the light construct were still crumbling to the ground, when they met the solid surface they melted and began to seep into the cracks like paint, only to return to White through the soles of his boots.

With a new distance put between the Superman and White, the frantic male dropped down low into a familiar crouch, gaze fixed on the super hero. Superman did not factor into his plans – how was he to know the Metropolis hero would show up here on this day at this _precise_ moment? 

Behind the initial terror that raced through his blood at the sight of the strongest man on Earth, there was rage. White had never quite understood how Cold could get so twisted when a heist went pear shaped – he was beginning to understand it now. 

It was foolish, White’s every logical instinct told him to backpedal. Try to go into hiding before he got himself captured, hope that the man of steel would let him slip away if he was quick enough. That’s what he should have done but White was both desperate and furious – logic had no place in his mind right now.

The tail had crumbled away into nothing more than a puddle around White’s feet; honestly it must have looked rather pathetic seeing White staring dejectedly in the ruins of his favourite toy. Perhaps that was why Superman began to approach him, casual and open – the sort of approach one might use when dealing with an injured animal. White was being pitied. 

“Listen, son.” Superman began, ignoring how White winced upon hearing his tender tone. “This doesn’t need to get any messier. I know you’re not a bad kid. How about we just talk?”

White could hardly believe what he was hearing. The man wanted to talk? What did he think this was, some sort of charity case?

When Superman took another step towards him, White’s eyes flashed up to scowl at the man’s face. His cold expression almost dropped right off his face when White saw the way Superman looked at him. There was uncertainty there as he approached White with some semblance of caution, but most prominently White could see the kindness in his face. 

His own expression must have betrayed his surprise because Superman smiled. Further throwing White off guard.

“See? We don’t need to fight – just let us help you.” Superman attempted to pacify him and part of White wanted to laugh. The rest was simply at a loss for how to respond.

“Just let me…” Then Superman’s hand was resting on his shoulder and whatever sorry state of paralysis had come over White shattered at the contact.

“No!” The echoing sound of White’s hand slapping the older man’s away was chilling enough, but it was the openly surprised expression on Superman’s face that really jarred White. The man had the most gut wrenchingly kicked puppy face that Alois had ever seen. It felt like a proper refusal, it was the loss of a way out.

White couldn’t stop now. He _wouldn’t_.

The hero saw the attack before White had fully formed the conscious thought to do it. Springing up from the paint like puddle, an instinctive defensive attack structure and White created the same mindless spikes his big brother had attacked Superman with when he first arrived. The only difference being that White’s constructs were in the shape of pillars, larger and more firmly formed. It helped that there was a very distinct lack of a point to them, but the sheer force of being hit with one could still prove to be fatal. Crushing was not much better than being speared. 

Having seen Black’s version of the reflexive attack, Superman managed better the second time around. Not letting one so much as scratch him as he dove for Flash, determined to get him out of harms way. Scooping the man up in his arms without a second thought Superman got them well out of range, landing down where Black was just staggering to his feet.

“That could have gone better.” Flash noted dryly as Superman set him down against the wall that Black had left a distinctly human shape in.

Behind them Superman could still hear White, the young man seemed to be having some trouble calming down enough to think straight. The initial outburst he’d had that resembled his older brother’s defensive maneuver had escalated into an onslaught of whip like shapes slamming into the area the man’s body. The pillars themselves didn’t shift much once Superman was out of range, but the small flailing tendrils were doing some considerable damage to the street.

Superman didn’t need his super hearing to catch the echo of pieces of brick and stone being torn from the surrounding buildings in the man’s mindless flurry of attacks. It was unlikely he even realized where Superman and the Flash had vanished to – if he’d looked for them at all. White acted like he was much more mature than his brother but Superman couldn’t help but see the two as a pair of confused children. A dangerous vision to have when dealing with super powered people, especially enemies – Batman would chide him again about underestimating potential threats if he knew.

But they were only children. Surely even Batman could understand that?

“I’ll sort him out.” Black asserted as he brushed debris off his shoulders, a hacking cough racking through his small frame and Superman could easily hear how desperately the young man’s heart was pounding away. Just looking at Black it was easy to tell he wasn’t in fighting shape – Flash would fair better than him at that point. 

But there was that twisted determined expression on the red-eyed man’s face that he was concerned the boy had picked up from Bruce somewhere down the line. Superman was positive that if Black was allowed to, he’d rush right back out to fight his little brother – he’d lose of course.

“Superman, come in. Can you hear me? Respond.” For once Superman was relieved to hear Batman’s unfriendly growl come through the coms.

“Yeah we’re right here Batman. Could really use your input right about now.” There was no shame in asking for help, no matter what Batman thought of it. 

“Flash, how long till you can run?” Batman inquired when he was sure the speaker was working again.

Barry winced, eyes drifting down to his leg. It still looked bad but Superman could see that even in this short time a lot of the tissue had started to heal. For a few seconds Flash studied the injured, testing how own limits and calculating just how far he could go. 

“I can do it now.” He decided slowly. “Not my top speed but I can manage well enough. You got a job in mind, Bats?” 

“You will remove yourself and Monochrome Black from the vicinity. When it is safe to do so – collect the Rogues. Lantern and Green Arrow should already be wrapping up with them on the west side of Central City. Assist them should they need it. Superman you will apprehend Monochrome White, then you will all report to the medical bay.”

“ _What_?” Superman winced when he heard the venom in Black’s voice; he sounded like Batman greatly offended him. Looking at the mortified on the boy’s face, Batman just might have. “You can’t possibly expect us to--!” 

“Monochrome Black.” Cold, direct – irrefutable. “You will follow League instructions.”

Superman could see the boy gulp, and he swore that Black had broken out in a cold sweat – but he was just as stubborn as Batman was sometimes. Although it took effort to get there.

“I…” Another nervous breath. “I’m not _part_ of the League – I’ll do what I want.” 

“You are under the Flash’s direct care and supervision. The Flash is a founding member of the League – you _will_ follow instructions.”

There was an argument forming in the young man’s eyes but thankfully whatever foolish response he had in mind was cut clean off as the ground gave a terrible tremor under them. The earth shook as something heavy smashed into its surface, whipping around Superman saw that White had become coherent enough to come looking for them. 

The boy stood panting in the crumbling remains of the wall he’d just throw an empty car through, his makeshift doorway being the cause for the quake. Even as the construct whips continued to flail around his body without much control, White stood desperately clasping one hand on the broken wall – he looked more a mess than Superman had expected he would. If the effort of keeping the constructs was beginning to take its toll on him or if his frazzled state was a result of his plans going array, Superman couldn't say.

By his side, Superman saw Black take an unconscious step away from his half crazed brother and then more purposefully take one forward. It was a small motion but Superman caught the fear in Black’s movements, for all his determination Black was afraid of White. He knew exactly what it felt like to be beaten into submission by the younger brother – even if he said otherwise it was obvious he didn’t want to fight White again.

“ _Flash_.” White roared when his eyes landed on the speedster inside the increasingly ruined building. “Get out here and die, coward!” 

Flash tossed Superman a quick glance, looking for his go-ahead to follow Batman’s order. It was a pointless gesture but Superman appreciated the sentiment all the same.

“Go.” He murmured in a hushed tone, not taking his eyes off the crazed young man. “Go on, I’ll wrap this up quickly.”

Superman caught the Flash nodding before the speedster climbed back on slightly shaky legs and moved over to Black. This time the boy didn’t protest to the plan. He couldn’t be sure if it was fear or the fact it was Barry telling him they needed to go that stayed his angry words. Either way he barely uttered a single complaint as the Flash scooped him up like he weighed nothing and when considering Black’s fragile frame he probably didn’t weigh all that much. 

White’s eyes widened impossibly further when he realized what the Flash intended to do. He had barely taken the first stumbling step forward before Flash and Black were both gone. Leaving nothing more than a small swell of disturbed dust in their wake.

“No…” The heartbreak in White’s voice almost had Superman frowning as he looked at the wretched expression on the other’s face. Like something valuable had just been torn from his grasp. 

Then just as quickly as it’d come, the expression was wiped clean off White’s face and replaced with a snarl worthy of the Bat. These boys had to stop taking notes from Bruce’s book of many unfriendly motions. 

“ _You_.” White spat, pointing in Superman’s direction. The spikes that lingered by his sides following the motion to angle in his direction. Superman didn’t fancy taking another blow from them. “This is all your fault! If you just had of stayed in Metropolis where you belong, this would have been over already.”

“Failing to kill someone is not something to lament.” The reaction was subtle but Superman caught the slight twitch from White. A small change in expression was all he needed to push on. “Have you actually ever killed _anyone,_ White?” Superman asked as he approached the younger man, keeping his stance as open as possible. Perhaps the second time would do the trick? Unlikely, but he had to try.

The piece of wall that White had rest his hand again rumbled a bit more as his grasp tightened upon hearing Clark’s question, but White himself remained in stony silence. That was a no then.

“I don't think you want to start today, son.” Much like a confused child would, White shifted in place gaze flicking between the ground and Clark’s face. He didn’t seem threatened by Superman at the very least and he took this as an encouraging notion. “We can still just talk, White – I meant what I said earlier. Just tell me why you’re trying to hurt the Flash. We can sort this out peacefully.” 

“You…” White struggled for the words, looking torn about something. “…wouldn’t understand.” He decided slowly. “How could you understand? You haven’t got a brother. You just float around that ridiculous watchtower playing the world’s hero with a smile – what would you know about killing for someone?” 

Superman saw the change, watched White’s muscled tense up under his flesh as the constructs hardened and stilled in his direction. “Give me a fucking break!”

Then it started all over again.  
White had regained some sense of control over his own powers and while they still kept their basic offensive shape, Superman found himself struggling to dodge each one that shot his way in this confined space.

“I’m not your enemy!” Superman tried to reason with the angry boy even as another white lash nearly ripped through his shoulder. Instead of hitting him the strike landed harmlessly against the wall, taking another chunk of stone out of the construction.

The building was beginning to lose its structural integrity and Superman didn’t want it to come crashing down. A quick x-ray vision check in the floors above assured him that there were no civilians inside but there was no telling just how much damage the building could cause if it came down.                                                                               

It was his focus on not accidentally destroying more of the city that got Superman thrown through the far side of the building. One of White’s more focused strikes landed flat against his chest – throwing Superman back with a surprising amount of force.

He felt the wall give away around his body as he crashed through it unceremoniously landing with a section of wall under him. There wasn’t a great amount of pain but still Superman remained motionless on the ground for a few seconds, just to get his bearings again and fight off the oncoming headache. 

“Superman.” And the headache just got worse. 

“What is it, Batman?” He did not meant to sound so short with his partner but being tossed through a wall by what was essentially a tantrum-throwing child did tend to leave him feeling a bit snippy. Of course Batman didn’t pay his bad mood any mind and just went on ahead with the mission. 

“Flash and Monochrome Black have met up with Lantern and Arrow – the Rogues have been apprehended. Wrap it up here.” It took all of Clark’s self control not to roll his eyes. Batman made it sound so painfully simple. 

Perhaps for him it was. Batman would have no trouble exerting just enough power to restrain and contain either Monochrome brother, but for Superman it was difficult. It was always so difficult to find the correct balance of strength and restraint. If he attacked White head on with all the strength he could muster – he’d probably unintentionally kill the kid. 

The world felt so incredibly breakable at times, Superman had to make sure he was in control or he’d hurt it without realizing he’d even done it.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud but he was envious of Batman at times. The man could hit as hard as he wanted and never ran the risk of shattering his opponent’s head into a thousand pieces while also taking out half the block with them.

Superman was just pulling himself out of the rubble when he caught movement from the inside of the building. White was following him out. This time when the boy attacked him Superman was ready. 

The whip of the constructs could burn, but Superman could just as easily break them and in a small show of frustration he proved that he could. Each spike that shot at Superman was met with a fist and each broke into shards, leaving only the faintest sting against his hand from the contact.

“Enough.” After the sixth offending spike broke apart Superman kicked off the ground, flying past a majority of White’s attacks to close the distance between them.

Briefly he saw something like fear flicker across White’s face when he saw Superman coming in his direction. He masked it fairly easily with rage but Superman knew it was there; it was hard to hide any emotion behind a mask better than the Batman did and White was still just learning the ropes. 

With the distance between them lost, Superman reached out to try and grasp White’s arm like one would an unruly child. However instead of soft flesh, Superman’s hand closed around sharp steel. Snarling as his hand burnt from the contact, Superman retracted his hand only to see that the blade White had produced had broken his skin.

There wasn’t enough time for Superman to properly register where the blade had come from, he did not know all of White’s tricks like the Bat did. He had not been expecting the boy to have a sword on him of all things, let alone one made of magic like the one currently in White’s hands. 

Without missing a beat White surged forward taking a swing at Superman. It was a clumsy maneuver fueled by anger more than skill or wit, but it proved difficult to keep out of range when White kept slashing at him. 

“I said.” Another slash narrowly missed his face, the whistle of the blade flying past his ear almost caused Superman to wince. “ _Enough_!”

White was quick on his feet but Superman was faster and considerably more level headed than his opponent was at that moment. It wasn’t easy but Superman managed to get White’s feet out from under him, knocking the younger boy onto his back. The sword fell from his grasp, clattering to the ground some distance away. 

Blindly White scrambled for it only to have Superman’s foot come down hard on his arm, trapping him on the ground. The pinned boy hissed out in pain and panic briefly flared up in Superman, he was sure that he hadn’t been applying too much pressure when he put the boy down. But just to be safe he eased off on the kid’s arm a bit.

“That is enough.” He stressed the words slowly, watching as White scowled up at him hatefully. “Batman, containment instructions?” Superman asked as he pressed two fingers to his earpiece. It could be difficult containing people like Black and White. They had too many tricks up their sleeves, but Batman usually came up with something to nullify their powers. 

“For now unconsciousness should do the trick.” Batman answered bluntly and Superman winced on White’s behalf.

“You’re going to have a headache when you wake up.” Clark told White apologetically and before the kid could think too much of it, Superman reached down to hold White’s head firmly against the ground. 

He had to make sure that White’s head wouldn’t crack against the ground and so he held White down with a steady hand. With the other hand Superman reached down to simply lay a flick against boy’s forehead. It might have looked like an innocent tap to an onlooker but Superman knew just how much force to apply to knock White out without truly damaging him and a controlled flick from Superman would be more than enough. 

White had reached up with one hand to try and pry Superman’s hand away, his efforts proving futile against the kryptonian’s strength. But after the sudden hit; his body went slack under Superman’s hold. The hand that had been clawing at his wrist loosening until it lay uselessly against Superman’s arm. Smiling apologetically he knelt down to gather the unconscious boy up in his arms. Only when White was fully out of it did Superman really take note of how thin he was. Black had always looked tiny to him but his little brother wasn’t all that much more impressive.

Perhaps it was the way he carried himself that made White look more formidable than his older brother, but when passed out he looked just as vulnerable and small as a child. Even creatures like Black and White were so fragile when compared to himself. 

“Batman, I’ve got Monochrome White. He hasn’t got any outstanding injuries – just a headache for when he’s awake.” He reported while carrying the boy away from the destruction, it wouldn’t be long before the press started swarming and he couldn’t take the time to chat with them when he had a super villain unconscious in his arms.

Somehow the term ‘super villain’ didn’t ring true when applied to White. He was just a kid; no matter how mature he made himself look there was no denying these were the actions of a child. 

“And yourself?” He was surprised that Batman checked his physical status, surprised but not insulted. Surely Batman didn’t think he could be injured after such a short scuffle, without meaning to – Superman laughed. That got an immediate growl out of his partner on the other end of the line and Clark tried to stifle his amusement. Admittedly he could still feel the sting of White’s magic, so perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to get a quick check over. If only to satisfy Batman that his team had all made it out okay.

“I’m fine.” He reported, working hard to keep any trace of his laughter out of his voice. “Don’t worry hardly even a scratch on m--”  
And then he stumbled. 

Clark’s arms tightened instinctively around the dead weight of White in his arms as his body nauseatingly dropped forward. For a split second everything was fluid, colour and sound slipping out of their firm structure, blurring and becoming fuzzy around the edges. Even as the whole world momentarily lost its form and Clark battled with the churning of his stomach, he remembered not to crush or drop the fragile body in his arms. 

“Superman?” Bruce’s voice was in his ear again, not quite panicked but definitely with an edge to it. “Superman, come in. Report.”

“Just…” Clark could not immediately form an answer, needing to steady himself and regain his bearings. After a few gulps of air he was able to shake off the possibility for falling. “Just a dizzy spell.”

The note of disbelief in his voice would not be missed by Bruce. He had just stumbled, as _Superman_. Clark Kent stumbled and tripped constantly but as Superman it was just not the type of thing that happened often. At least not without the helping hand of kryptonite or someone like Darkseid. He still felt vaguely ill.

“Regroup with Flash and the others. The Rogues will be returning to their usual cells in Iron Gate prison – White will be getting a specialized cell. His first. That will be handled by the authorities at Central station, you’ll report to the medical bay.” 

Superman wanted to protest that he would be fine, he hardly needed medical attention for a small dizzy spell but it was unlikely Batman would heed his attempts to pacify the man. 

“Understood. I’ll see you soon, Bats.”

The responding grumble made Clark smile, that might as well have been Batman speak for ‘see you soon’. It would do for now.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“You impossible idiot.”

The man in a bat suit had called Clark worse, but his string of insults never failed to jab into him at every opportunity.

“What were you thinking? When you feel ill you report to the medical bay immediately. How many times have you heard this already?”

While Bruce rattled off insults and the odd note of concern, pacing agitatedly in front of the currently shirtless kryptonian, Clark kept his head bowed – practicing the perfect image of repentance in front of his fuming teammate. Honestly he hadn’t thought much of his dizziness or the slight churning of his stomach, chalked it up to taking one too many blows in their quick scuffle. 

Of course he’d ended up misstepping and indirectly disobeying the Bat’s very clear instructions. He’d brought the unconscious White to meet up with Flash and the others but rather than instantly head to the watchtower – Superman had stayed with the authorities to see to it that the Rogues got back to their cells and White got one furnished just for him. 

Batman had already sent through the specifics to the police there, the things needed to keep White contained without harm. The efficiency behind the man in the suit was scary even to those on his own side, Superman had no doubt that Bats had a special cell planned for all of them. All it took was one bad day; one horrible decision and the Dark Knight would crack down on them.

Funny. They were arguably the strongest forces on Earth and all it took was one lapse in judgment to ruin them.

They all feared the Bat. 

Perhaps fear was too strong a word between friends, they all respected Batman, and Superman had always trusted him to do what must be done. That’s why there was a small kryptonite stash in the Batcave, and a pocket in Batman’s belt for it, that’s why Superman had given it to him.

They all trusted the Bat.

To Clark it seemed very much like Alois Harlow had made that mistake, the one that finally got Batman to come down hard on him. Mostly White kept to himself, bickered with his big brother from time to time and was most likely working with the Rogues – but it had never endangered anyone.

Civilians were off the young man’s radar and murder had never been in his M.O. – until today. Maybe it was the attempt on Barry’s life that forced Batman’s hand, or perhaps it was what came after. 

Superman’s back was throbbing, a distant memory of pain still lingering in his flesh. Even as Batman ranted and raved in front of him about the importance of getting medical attention, Clark couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Bruce had been so hard on Alois because he’d hurt the man of steel.

Albeit only slightly.

“Superman!” Clark jumped back into attention when Batman barked at him. He hadn’t even realized he was spacing out. “Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

“Yeah, yeah I am.” He answered quickly, just able to see the storm looming in his friend’s eyes as he looked at him. The Bat’s way of showing concern was harsh – his was of showing love even more so. He cared aggressively according to Hal. “Sorry, I just keep thinking about the whole thing.” 

Batman visibly relaxed, some of his ranting prematurely coming to an end. Evidently he’d been thinking about this as well. Even if Superman had human eyes it would have been easy to make out Bruce’s feelings through his body language alone. It wasn’t every day Superman saw their fearsome, all knowing bat stumped. 

Despite popular belief, Superman was not thick.

No matter how much Bruce would insist he was. He’d taken notice of Batman when he went to visit Central City. He’d even encouraged it in the past, wanting to help Bruce do what he wanted with the excuse that he’d been forced to.

Stubborn Bat always needed an out, and Clark had been more than happy to provide.

It might have surprised their other team members but Clark had figured out early on what Batman was doing. Those impromptu visits to Central City – the days he’d visit Barry and the young Noire – he went to find Alois as well. 

Ever the vigilant guardian.

Clark knew it would be out of turn to ask Bruce about it, ask him why he let Alois keep hiding, why he kept secrets for the boy. Most of all Clark wondered why Bruce didn’t just try to take Alois under his wing, so to speak. Maybe it was the fact he had Tim already in training or the sudden appearance of Damian that kept Bruce from trying to take on more responsibility.

More likely it had to do with Jason. 

Still Bruce had never failed to keep an eye on Alois. The fact that this had happened at all, when Bruce was so certain Alois was safe to the public – well it must have been winding up his friend. Clark could practically hear the wheels turning under that cowl; it’d be a miracle if Bruce didn’t start steaming from the ears.

What could he say to reassure his partner that he hadn’t failed? Was there really any set of words, in any order that would help to ease Bruce’s mind? Probably, but Clark would have to fight to find them and even if he did Bruce would outwardly reject them. Bruce’s worst enemy did seem to be himself more often than not. 

Perhaps it wasn’t reassurance in himself that Bruce needed.

“Bru--” A sharp glare from his partner had Clark rethinking his words. “Batman, I honestly feel much better. I got the all good from J'onn– everything is fine.” The doubt was still clear on Batman’s face, the firm set of his jaw gave it away. “It was just a small dizzy spell, lingering effects of being pummeled with magic. I promise, everything is fine. I’m going to head down to Central and--” 

“What?” It was a rare treat to hear Batman so honestly baffled. “Why on earth would you…” He trailed off as understanding dawned on him. The treat never lasted longer than a few seconds. 

“No.”

“Batman, I--” 

“ _No_.” 

Clark didn’t try to protest immediately, instead he simply sighed and let his elbows rest against his knees. Before him Batman stood firm, arms crossed with a scowl crinkling his cowl. The longer Clark stared at the man, the more he felt Batman shifting. Maybe not towards permission so much as frustration – but it was something. 

“He isn’t a bad kid.” Clark said after another beat of silence. “I just want to ask him why.” Batman opened his mouth to say something and Clark knew exactly what it would be. “ _I_ want to ask him. I think being scolded by Batman might make him a little tight lipped.” 

“Don’t treat this like a domestic dispute.” Batman snapped back at him. “People could have been hurt, killed. You _were_ hurt.” 

“Barely.”

If looks could kill there was no force on heaven or earth that could have saved Superman. 

“Do not take your safety lightly because you think you’re infallible.” Bruce seethed; Clark could actually see each muscle tense in anger. “You might be the man of steel, but you’re hardly invincible. You are not, not even _close_.” 

Without really intending to, Clark wilted under Batman’s stare and eventually found himself looking at his hands glumly. Even in a verbal confrontation it felt like he could never win. Strongest man on the planet and he couldn’t even meet the human’s stare. 

“If I were unbeatable, you’d make sure to find a way.” Clark muttered, not actually realizing he’d said it out loud until he saw the way Bruce’s shoulders tensed and jaw set firmly. He hadn’t meant to say it; the thought had just slipped free without his consent. But now that it had been said and…well it still rang a little too true for comfort. 

If Superman didn’t have something like kryptonite to kill him should the need arise, if he hadn’t been bound morally – they would not be sitting here today. Clark had always known, somewhere deep in the darkest corners of his boy scout mind, that Bruce would always find a way.

Every single time, Bruce would find a way to kill him. 

Sometimes he wondered why his best friend had to be the one person on Earth who knew the best ways to kill him. Came up with the hundreds of countermeasures to entrap or subdue him. Why did it have to be Bruce that would be the one that thought most often on ways to bring him down? 

Why did it have to be _him_?

“Rest.” Bruce finally spoke, voice a low growl, and then he turned away from Clark. Not bothering to speak about the little slip up. If Bruce was angry with Clark for mentioning what they opted to keep silent, or if it bothered him in the same way it did Clark – well no one could be sure.

And as Bruce stalked away from him, still clad in his Batman persona – Clark finally relented that out of everyone it could have been. It would always have to be Bruce that thought of ways to bring him down.

Of course, that didn’t mean that Clark was above defying Bruce from time to time. Someone had to say no to Batman on occasion because if the man of steel couldn’t do that then it was unlikely anyone else would stand up to take his place. With that in mind Clark waited until he was positive Bruce was back in the command station, waiting till his heartbeat was distant enough for it to be safe, then he left the medical bay.                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

Clark knew it wouldn’t be long before Bruce caught onto his small act of rebellion - Clark did try desperately not to view this on par with a teenager sneaking out after curfew - so he’d have to be quick. A distinct advantage of being him meant that he could usually do ‘quick’ a lot more efficiently than Bruce could, regardless of all his high-speed methods of transport. 

So if he was lucky he might get an hour before Bruce’s voice came cracking across the coms demanding he get his red caped ass back to the medical bay. Well, that or he’d come fetch him in person – not preferable. 

Still, Clark wanted to do this because he knew Bruce wouldn’t be able to work this situation to his advantage. Clark had always admired Bruce, but in all his admiration he’d been able to spot fatal flaws in his friend’s methods. Most all of them being in handling situations that needed a soft hand as opposed to a fist. 

Despite Bruce’s harsh claims, they were still just children. No matter how physically grown up they appeared, both Harlow boys hadn’t even been on this earth for a decade and they’d already tried to grow up so fast and lost their family. 

Noire was the lucky one in many respects; he’d been given people to rely on and a good place to call home. Where Alois had been, whom he was with and what his few years on this planet had been like were widely unknown. He was fairly sure that Bruce knew more than he let on, but Clark was willing to be Alois was just as lonely as any kid who had lost their parents would have been in his position. 

Bruce should have understood that better than anyone, maybe he did. Maybe that was why he was so hard on the pair – but Clark knew Bruce needed tenderness at times as well. Even if he denied it. As such Clark thought it best Superman see White before Batman did. In a way he was trying to help Bruce rather than Alois. So let him be mad, let him glare and snarl – Clark would do it again in a heartbeat. 

As Clark reached earth, setting himself down gently in Central City out front of the Iron Gate’s prison, he felt a familiar twinge of distaste. Central City had been made to handle hardened criminals and metahumans, Iron Gates was hardly a place for a child. How people seemed to keep overlooking the fact that they were still _children_ , never failed to astound him. 

Another perk to being Superman, Clark found, was that hardly anyone questioned his intentions when approaching a high security prison. In fact he was frequently greeted with ready smiles, everyone recognized him when he wore the suit and the trust that came with it was heartwarming. 

Though sometimes it seemed that level of trust frightened Bruce and some of his other league members. Did everyone think so little of him? That’d he’d abuse the trust humanity gave him?

Trying not to take it personally, Superman spoke pleasantly with those he saw working at the prison. A few guessed who he was here to see, they’d seen the fight, heard the rumors and this was not Metropolis – so of course he was here to see the kid he’d got landed behind bars. It did not take long for the workers to agree to let him see Alois.                                                                 

Some part of Clark worried about this; even though they allowed him in without a fuss there was still a nagging sensation of breaking rules or being in an area deemed ‘out of bounds’. Of course those restrictions applied to the human Clark, not Superman. Regardless it was an uncomfortable itch in the back of his brain that his farm boy mind just couldn’t quite shake. 

Admittedly it did help to be shown the way by a man with a gun. Perhaps not a comfort to others, Superman found the familiar uniform and weapon – admittedly useless against him – to be a relief. It was a sign that this was not some sort of violation of the rules. He was being guided by someone that had also been charged with keeping order and protecting others.

With that particular concern dealt with sufficiently for the time being, Clark turned his attention to the cells they were passing. Most of the criminals inside were not familiar to him, even the ones that began to pop up in the more specialized cells were only vaguely recognizable to him – this was the Flash’s territory after all. 

He knew that Bruce would know them all inside and out – heaven forbid he be caught off guard by anyone.

When he finally laid eyes on the ‘special cases’ area of the prison, it didn’t take long for Clark to find the person he was looking for. These cells were considerably larger than the ones they’d just passed and even more barren. Mostly white and sterile with glass between them instead of bars, this end of the prison was mostly empty. 

The Rouges had been moved already it seemed to their usual cells, that just left one lonely prisoner sitting in their cell, waiting for whatever would happen to them. This was their first time being put through the legal system after all – it would take a bit longer than the usual suspects. 

Clark wondered if he missed his accomplices as he came to stand in front of the plane of glass separating them. Bruce would have chided him for thinking criminals cared that greatly for their coconspirators but Clark couldn’t help but think that Alois looked particularly forlorn and miserable. 

White was silent inside his cell. His head bowed with eyes fixated on the sterile tiles, Superman saw how tightly the boy’s hands were clasped together, straining until he could see the bones pulling Alois’s skintight over his knuckles. Even the set of his shoulders remained ridged, even though he was the picture of regret Superman couldn’t help but think his silence was a result of the effort not to explode.

“Monochrome White.” Clark kept himself held high, maintaining the Superman persona the public knew. Firm, unshakable but benevolent. Superman would treat a first, small time criminal like White sternly but would always make allowances for someone so young and potentially redeemable.

The young man didn’t say anything, hardly even twitched; the only indication that he’d heard Superman address him at all was the slight narrowing of his eyes. Surprise briefly flashed across Superman’s face as he found something familiar in that scowl. Has Alois also picked that expression up from Bruce somewhere down the line? He was right to think that the Bat was a bad influence on the boys.

Clearing his throat, Superman continued. “What you did today was inexcusably dangerous.”

There was no response. Superman was watching Alois closely, looking for some sort of indication that what he was saying meant anything to the young man. Bruce may have been the interrogator but Superman thought he could read people better without involving torture. 

“Son, why did you attack Central City?” There was a reaction. A single, small, almost impossible to spot, twitch. Superman pushed a little harder. “Innocent lives could have been lost – what did you expect to achieve?” Alois’s jaw locked firmly, if Superman just pressed on a little more. 

“Aloi—”

He broke. 

“Why are you here?” Alois suddenly seethed, grinding his teeth almost as sharply as Clark had seen Batman would on occasion, and just like with Bruce he was struck with the overwhelming urge to advise the young man against it. “Why is it _you_?” 

Gradually Clark’s stern expression softened, even with the presence of the human guard behind him, it was difficult to constantly appear in his hero persona. At least it was difficult when a child stared at him like that, despite his large array of expressions filed under ‘unfriendly bat’ this one did not appear in any of them. At least it was not a face learnt from Bruce that was staring up at him. Behind the venom and uneasiness, Clark found himself looking at something he couldn’t quite place.

“You were expecting someone else?” Clark’s voice did not follow his expression and become gentler, with the guard at his back Superman kept his tone firm. The biting laugh that came from White was response enough. He was expecting Batman, no question there.

“So why _are_ you here?” Deciding to push past the sardonic tone of the young man’s voice, Superman took that as an open invitation to throw out his pitch.

“You’re still just a child.” He did not stop when Alois’s expression twisted bitterly. He’d clearly taken offense to that. “If you just work with us, let us help you – you can redeem yourself.” 

“A slap on the wrist?” White scoffed.

“If you like.” Superman responded impassively. “Son, you have the choice. We don’t have to be enemies, you don’t have to hurt people.” 

The silence that followed his words was not exactly discouraging. The subtle shifting of White’s shoulders, the tensing of his clutched hands, his entire body screamed divided. Superman was confident, White could be salvaged – everyone was worth giving the chance. 

“Why?” Alois had been saying ‘why’ since he first opened his mouth but Superman caught what they really meant. He wasn’t just asking Superman why he was here instead of Batman – this kid was looking for something else. 

“I believe in you.” 

The reaction was immediate. Alois’s head snapped up and he stared at Superman with huge blue eyes. Superman heard his tiny heart stutter before fluttering wildly, if he focused he was sure that he could pinpoint Alois tremble or see the sweat forming on his brow. Such simple words could prompt such a strong reaction? Well, Superman continued with that train of thought, taking a step towards the cell with an open smile. 

“I know you can do better, even if it’s just a tiny bit better. You just need a little help.” 

As if to hide his own wretched expression, Alois’s head bowed deeply and Superman’s kind smile turned a little sad. The boy was biting back something like tears by the look of him. Clark knew when to stop pushing, Alois would remember what he said, and hopefully he would eventually trust them enough to accept the proposal. 

“Think about it.” He said softly, backing away from the cell. Alois said nothing. “I’ll come back, you can say whatever you like to me then. Please, consider it.” 

Feeling as though he had accomplished something of worth, Superman left Alois to his thoughts and as he left the cell behind his smile lasted. In fact his positive attitude lasted until he took the first step out of the prison doors and spotted a familiar black cowled figure waiting for him at the bottom of the building steps. 

Batman barely shifted as he set his gaze on Superman and the superhuman felt his own heart stutter just a bit. Not a moment later, a clumsy, guilty smile played on his face. The expression was more Clark than it was Superman, but for just a moment he could not contain himself. 

He was in trouble and it felt very much like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Still Batman wouldn’t be going anywhere and the longer he kept the man waiting, the more trouble he was going to be in. 

“Batman, I--” He began while descending the steps.

“Save it.” The words were sharp and Superman cringed under them just a bit, but his smile remained. Even when Batman was furious with him, it was hard to feel discouraged when he felt he’d just been proven right. 

No matter how livid Batman currently was, Superman felt he’d proven sufficiently that his method worked best. White would come around – he was sure of it. As if guessing his thoughts – the idea that he _didn’t_ have mind reading abilities was baffling – Batman’s jaw clenched unhappily. 

But in a rare moment where Superman seemingly came out victorious, Batman relented. “We will talk about this later.” Batman snarled bluntly before turning away from Superman with a flick of his cape. He was still cranky obviously but Superman could hardly keep the grin off his face – the nonverbal acceptance was enough. Batman knew he’d done good and that must have grated on his nerves like mad.

If he hadn’t thought as such, Batman would have marched into that prison and done his bit. Instead he was leading Superman away from Iron Gates and back towards the batplane. Clark had a feeling he’d be flying rather than riding however – Batman was too angry to let him have the seat. 

Well, it was better than some of Bats other retaliations. It did not involve a little green rock – so Superman took it as a win.

  

…

…

  

The flying man had left and the cellblock became insufferably silent. Usually Alois was not put off by some peace and quiet, especially when it was so difficult to find. Between his noisy, somewhat chaotic flat and the ludicrous destructive nature of the Rogues in one room – silence was a rarity. 

Distantly Alois wondered about that noisy little home of his, the lady across the hall might have come by to offer him dinner again – would it worry her when he wasn't there, or had she seen the news and finally recognized him? 

Unlikely, she seemed more blinded by her mentality then her eyes, if she didn't want to see the news she wouldn’t – regardless of who told her about it or what she saw. It was both infuriating and amusing when Alois thought back on his exchanges with Imogen. 

If she didn’t want to hear it, there was no force on heaven or hell that could make her listen. He’d learnt that after the third meal she forced onto him. Making short comments about how scrawny and pathetic he was – how would he get a girlfriend like that?

In the quiet cell, Alois’s dry chuckle sounded thunderous and he almost cringed at the sound, immediately falling silent again. 

Since the rogues had been moved back to their traditional, personalized cells, it had been painfully still in this room. Mick’s angry ravings and occasionally animalistic snarls were almost missed. The other rouges seemed content to be quiet and thoughtful if just a little miffed, Lisa had the most biting comments for the others when they tried to kick up conversation. Axel’s cheerful voice had even managed to get a rise out of Mark once or twice. No one had been particularly chipper at the time – excluding Trickster.

Alois frowned when he remembered glancing up from his cell to see Len. The man was always intolerable after a failed heist but instead of anger, Alois had seen him pacing with a thoughtful expression. Something was always brewing in his mind; Alois could only hope that whatever he was planning did not end with an extensive night of pity drinking. Of course when Len caught him staring, he’d easily and indifferently returned the stare. 

He knew that Len was silently furious with him, but he wasn’t apologetic. Of course he hadn’t told Cold that he intended to kill the scarlet speedster – he would have objected. The rogues didn’t kill and even if they had, for some ungodly reason Captain Cold seemed to want the Flash to keep on breathing. 

Alois had known this even when he tried to impale the Flash – he’d been ready to face Len’s wrath should he succeed. However he had not been prepared for this bitter feeling curling in his stomach after having failed instead. They were both feeling the same thing, they’d both lost something in their respective plans and perhaps it was knowing this, that drove Len to eventually smirk smugly at him. 

Punishment for all those times Alois failed to understand Cold’s fury at a failed heist. He’d stopped looking after that. 

Then they were gone. Taken off to their ‘other home’. Alois had never really been in a cage before, never felt so cut off from himself. He couldn’t call up a single construct and even though the room was filled with bright white light, so like himself, it felt nauseating. It felt like there was something ghosting over his skin, itching incessantly. But if he tried to rub the phantom sensation away, it just moved deeper under his skin and nestled contentedly in his bones. 

It was everywhere.  
The light was everywhere. 

It only took hours for it to become too much and Alois found himself curling in tightly on himself, hoping desperately to create a small pocket of darkness to hide within. But the white room was everywhere; it was everything he could see. It seeped behind his shut eyelids, invaded his every sense until there was nothing but that blank, cold, whiteness. He couldn’t escape it.

Alois didn’t know how much longer he could endure this, but that brought with it an interesting question. What would happen when he could no longer endure?

Terror raced up his spine and Alois’s prone body gave a small shudder as he curled his arms more tightly around his knees. He was wishing desperately for the discord of the rouges to return, with their petty squabbles and arguments, or the relentless prying of the lady next door – something to break apart the stillness that had come over his cell like a curse. 

Then, like a miracle, something did come. In hindsight, _miracle_ was not the correct word. 

The sound was as jarring as it was welcome. The echo of the steel door at the end of the hall squealing open as it dragged against the stone ground. Footsteps followed but Alois did not move, instead he remained curled tightly and listened to the approaching steps until they were practically outside his cell. 

Only one set of feet. How odd. It was never just one, always a pair or more. 

Curious Alois lifted his head slowly from his craned position to look at the person that had come to a standstill in front of his cell. A small part of him expected to see the one in blue and red – the one that said strange things about trust and belief. The alien.

Instead he saw a man. 

“You look miserable.” Were the first words out of the stranger’s mouth. 

Alois stared harder at the figure out-front of his prison. Something about him was familiar, a nagging memory at the back of his mind said he knew this face from somewhere. The man was well dressed but any human could manage to throw on nice clothes – it was the way he carried himself that made the stranger imposing. If it was confidence or something more Alois wasn’t sure, it made him weary. 

But it was the face that really captured Alois’s attention, or more accurately, his eyes. Mere hours ago he’d seen the man of steel’s chiseled face in front of him, and now he was looking at another well crafted human face. 

There was always something incredibly remarkable with the humans that managed to be gifted with such good looks – Alois was created, not born. As such chance had very little to do with his appearance, so for humans it really must have been luck of the draw. He was glad for the blessed ones but he truly admired those that were unlucky and somehow managed to create their own luck. Humans could be rather impressive in that way.

Looking at this one’s face – he looked very much like the sort to make his own luck rather than rely on anything or anyone else. It had nothing to do with luck that this man’s eyes were so captivating. Alois found himself staring at them, not because they were gentle or kind like Superman’s had been – rather they were the opposite. Those eyes easily cut through Alois, biting viciously into his core as they examined him. Whatever they were looking for was being sought out systematically and ruthlessly. These eyes almost looked like Batman’s – Alois didn’t think it possible to have eyes colder than the Bat’s, but here they were.

Alois did not know if those eyes found what they were looking for in the end – but Alois’s memory found what it had been looking for.

A name.

“Lex Luthor.” The name felt heavy on his tongue, partially because Alois realized the danger came with it. 

Regardless he spoke the other’s name with a certain note of amusement – after all, what was a man of his stature doing here? Unless he was behind the bars he had no business coming to the prison. This was not Metropolis – he had no right to be here. Much like Superman, these people should stay in their own territory.

Although if Alois was to be honest with himself – and he rarely was – seeing Luthor away from Metropolis might have been a relief. It meant the city was just a little safer without him in it. Safe to grow flowers in. 

“You’ve heard of me.” Luthor’s tone was perhaps even more patronizing than his own, and just as entertained. 

“You’re hard to ignore.” Came the easy response. 

Luthor’s name was infamous, even factoring out his less than legal exploits and the rumors circulating about his somewhat…eccentric endeavors – he was a household name. His wealth and public presence was well known far beyond the reaches of Metropolis, but Alois only knew him for his shadier business dealings. Len had dropped more than a few comments about Luthor over the time that Alois had known him. Some, if not all, of his comments were advisory – cautionary. 

No matter how rich Luthor might be, Len had stayed clear of trying to rob him outright. Far too dangerous with so little pay off. 

“What are you doing here, Luthor?” Alois continued when the silent lasted too long. “You’re a long way from home.” 

“Hardly.” Carelessly Luthor dismissed Alois’s somewhat juvenile comment. “Home is relative. Home could mean America, or the planet – so this could very well be my home. For you perhaps home is a little more…peculiar.” 

“Alright, cute idea.” Alois’s tone was dry. “What’s the point of this sermon exactly? I doubt you came here to talk philosophy with little old me.” 

Luthor’s smile was positively predatory, all teeth and no tenderness. It was rather a stark contrast to the gentle expression Superman had shown him earlier. Alois knew which he preferred. 

“I heard earlier today you had a small mishap in Central. Plans gone awry?” Alois held his scowl. “It was rather spectacular to watch, truly, I was impressed.” 

“ _Impressed_?” Alois snarled, nerves prickling angrily under his skin. “It was a disaster.”

“From your perspective, maybe.” Luthor’s voice retained that irritating, scholar like infliction – as if he was holding class rather than talking to a criminal through bars. Funny that Alois felt himself more guiltless than Luthor. “You were looking in the wrong places for a victory – winning the battle is not always the most important part of war.”

That seemed rather backwards but Alois held his tongue because it looked like Luthor meant to go on. He was fairly sure the businessman simply enjoyed hearing himself talk. Begrudgingly Alois had to admit – he had a good speaking voice.

“You failed to kill the Flash.” Alois flinched. “The rogue’s heist ended up a bust and now the lot of you are in prison. Now, where exactly did you go wrong?” It was not an invitation to speak, not really, and so Alois remained silent and _livid_. “With Superman.” Luthor concluded simply and in response Alois laughed. 

“How observant of you.” Was what he said, but it sounded suspiciously like he meant ‘no shit’. “With your _extensive_ experience on the subject of Superman ruining plans,” Did Alois see Luthor’s jaw tighten just then? “I’m sure you have some advise on the matter.”

“Remove Superman from the equation.” That was Luthor’s simple answer and Alois positively lost it.

The young man began to laugh, and it only got harder the more he did. The curled position he’d adopted was once again pulled into play but this time he wasn’t hiding so much as he was trying to hold himself together, afraid that his laughter might just shake him apart. Luthor for his part was fairly patient but Alois caught the sharp edge of irritation his gaze when he risked a glance up.

“You can’t kill Superman.” Alois finally gasped out, still caught in the throws of his amusement. But Luthor continued to look stoic and resolute, slowly but sufficiently killing Alois’s laughter until he was just staring at Luthor like he was a mad man. He might just be. 

“You can’t _kill_ Superman!” Alois repeated, this time a mix of anger and disbelief taking place of amusement. “It’s impossible, he could survive a nuclear explosion for god’s sake! Even if you wanted to try it, you’d take half of this planet with you – you called it ‘home’, remember?”

Alois felt panic quickly rising up in his chest. What was this man doing here? Why was he suggesting such nonsense? Alois owed this planet nothing; he should not have cared in the slightest if Luthor decided to sacrifice half of it in order to kill one alien. Alois could just as easily leave this world and move onto another – but he wouldn’t. Because despite everything – this world had value to him.

“Calm yourself, Alois.” The use of his name did nothing to help mollify him. “I never said ‘kill’ him, simply ‘remove’ him.” That actually reassured Alois, mostly because he became curious as to what the difference was.

“How do you plan to do that?” 

As if that was the question Luthor had been waiting for, the man’s ruthless smile returned and Alois felt a small jolt of dread rush up his spine. He’d leant from Batman that even mortal men could be terrifying, Luthor taught him that in a very different brand of fear.

Casually, completely sure of himself, Luthor approached the cell wall that separated them. It reminded Alois of how Superman had approached him – except there was no kindness or ‘belief’ to be found here. It was something much colder and more sinister, still Alois waited – interested despite himself. 

“With you of course.” Luthor announced as though it was obvious. Then with his smirk twisting up at the corners, Luthor lent down just slightly as he addressed the imprisoned man. “You’re a poison, Alois.”

 

The monochrome brother’s heart clenched tightly in his chest, and Alois did not take the time to figure out what emotion had it twisting so painfully. Luthor stood back to his full height with a sort of flourish that only men like him could emulate, the sort of confidence that ordinary people could only dream of. He looked untouchable. 

“The magic coursing through your veins is toxic, I’ve seen how your powers work – a scorpion is the form it takes, no?” Luthor had thrown himself back into lecture mode but this time Alois listened intently. 

Part of him was irritated by the idea of Luthor observing him but the rest was hanging off each word – being told about his own nature was something of a rarity. His own body frequently surprised Alois, so perhaps he put too much hope in the exposition Luthor was spouting – hoping for some sort of comfort in what he said. 

There was none.

 _A scorpion_? Briefly Alois thought of the tail he’d used to strike Superman and his brother down. Yes, it was a scorpion’s tail and it did produce a sickly sweet substance that imitated a real scorpion’s venom. He was a poison. 

“Regular poisons do not effect Superman to the same degree or result as it does a human– but yours is not a natural poison. It is magic – Superman has no special defenses against magic.”

“He walked it off.” Alois chimed in flatly. 

“He stumbled.” Luthor answered with a vicious glee.

Alois began to wonder how Luthor knew these things but Len’s cautionary comments played back in his mind. Luthor called him a poisonous scorpion – true as it was – but Luthor was the true predator.

He had eyes everywhere and if Superman was involved, you could bet your bottom dollar that Luthor was not far behind. If Superman had stumbled – Luthor saw it. Alois did not remember a moment where Superman did such a thing. He was imposing and powerful every second they fought – Alois had been pathetically outclassed.

“Even if I went along with this….this lunacy.” Alois began slowly, words cautious. “I am currently behind bars and even if my attack made him stumble _once_ , it won’t be enough to ‘remove’ him. It’s not strong enough.” 

“Oh Alois, my dear idiot.” The monochrome brother wished his glare could physically harm the arrogant man. “That’s why you have _me_. Your talents have potential but they’re a raw potential, I’ll take them and make them something worthwhile. Oh, and if you’re worried about this…confinement – I grantee this is hardly a problem.” 

That sounded about right and Alois found himself battling with a comment about wealth ruling the world. He held it back not out of tact or civility, instead Alois held onto his biting comments because this situation was rapidly becoming something worth being weary of.

Any situation that landed Lex Luthor in front of you was one that demanded your full attention. The sort of scenario that could get a person killed should they misstep.

Alois liked to think he was clever, perhaps not well educated given his lack of years on this earth, but intelligent none the less. He played this scenario against what he knew of the underground and of people like Luthor. The man wanted his ‘help’ with something, but it was not really Alois he wanted – it was what was inside of his body. 

Briefly thoughts of underground facilities and testing chambers came to mind – a very real possibility of what may happen should he refuse. Alois was not certain Luthor needed him alive to be of use, so he had to tread carefully. This was an offer but it could very quickly become a command. Alois could not be sure if Luthor simply preferred the courteous way up front or if there was some reason behind his choice to ask rather than take first – either way it didn’t matter. 

“You’re offering me a get out of jail free card?” A simple gesture of confirmation was all he got from Luthor. “And in return you want me to help you chase after another scheme to kill Superman.” 

“You make it sound so foolish.” The smug smile on Luthor’s face definitely made it seem like he thought this was a good idea. However there was a slight narrowing of Luthor’s gaze as if a fleeting thought had bothered him. “Is there any reason you would be opposed to the idea?” 

Opposed to the idea of killing someone? Perhaps Alois had no right to feel uneasy about it, he’d planned to take a life today – what did it matter if he tried to do it again? That felt like it should be the logical response. If he’d been prepared to take one, why not another?

But it wasn’t just ‘a life’ was it? Alois’s head bowed slightly, back towards the ground as he thought about the man that had stood out front of his cell before Luthor had. The stupid boy scout, spilling nonsense about believing in him.

Alois didn’t owe that man a damn thing, but that included death. Superman did not deserve to die. Of course comments like that would not pass with Luthor standing in front of him, so Alois kept his reservations to himself.

His silence must have been rather telling and Luthor chuckled quietly. “Well, perhaps this will persuade you. What I plan to do with your magic, it will effect more than just Superman.” There was a sinister note to the man’s tone, one that Alois felt Luthor would not use so openly. Unless of course he’d arranged for this little chat to be as private as possible. Rich humans with clever minds were truly terrifying. 

“I’m offering a get out of jail free card, as you so elegantly put it, and another chance for you to kill the Flash.” 

Oh. He definitely had Alois’s attention now. Judging by the gleam in the human’s gaze, he knew it as well. 

“Do we have a deal?”

Alois thought first of Superman. The warm smile he’d shown him and the promises he’d freely made to him. For a moment Alois felt a refusal bubbling to the surface – but then he thought of something else.

He thought of the Flash and his older brother, remembered what it was he truly wanted. Superman might not deserve to be hurt, but Alois couldn’t put the man of steel before his own ambitions.

No hard feelings. 

“Seems we do.”

Satisfied Luthor straightened back up and idly adjusted his tie. Alois knew the man was smirking but he opted to no longer look at his expressions. They were alarmingly unnerving; instead the villain simply stared at the blank white floor under him.

“We’ll have you out of that cell before the day is out.” Luthor’s voice was back to professional and Alois smirked dryly. His acting was good but even when he presented himself as a well intending businessman; it was impossible to fully shake the intimidation that came with him. “One last thing before I go.” 

Alois didn’t need to look up to know Luthor had turned back towards his cell. “The reason you attacked the Flash in the first place – what was it?” 

“You don’t know?” Alois scoffed bitterly. “After all this, I assumed you knew everything.” 

Luthor regarded Alois levelly for a moment before shrugging indifferently. “Keep your reasons to yourself if it helps you feel safer. Either way it’s hardly my concern.” Once again the man turned away from Alois’s cell and this time he didn’t pause as he left the prison block. 

With the man gone Alois was left to wonder what he’d really just agreed to. Sighing quietly Alois let his body slump to the side and crash down onto the mattress he’d been given. The mat was hardly comfortable but Alois disregarded the scratchy surface and let his eyes finally slide shut. 

Part of him didn’t really think Luthor’s plan would work, not that he knew the details. But if it gave him a chance to finish what he’d started it was worth the risk. However, despite knowing it was worth the horrible methods, Alois couldn’t quite shake off the memory of the super human’s smile. 

Behind his closed eyes Alois kept being bombarded with memories he’d rather not have. Superman’s open face and honest offers of a better path. Even the Flash’s stupid, ready smile and the secret smile his brother would wear when he thought the Flash wouldn’t see it.

Those happy expressions nagged at the back of his mind, adding more weight onto his shoulders. But he couldn’t bend to such frivolous, childish whims if he did…

Then, helpfully, his mind supplied another memory. A spark of yellow across his vision was all it took and all of Alois’s hesitations vanished in an instant. The Flash had to go. So that yellow thing would leave with him.

“No hard feelings.” Alois muttered, leaving the words hanging in the empty cell.

There was nothing else he could do.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it continues. This chapter got a bit long.  
> Please tell me if there's any errors, there always are.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in Central City the day that Superman found himself adorning civilian clothes and dealing with one too many catastrophes than he thought possible in one house. As a team the Justice League had managed to fight off alien invasions, divert the destructive power of natural disasters and fight with the darkest of human nature on a daily basis.

So why on earth was it they couldn’t seem to manage one simple barbeque without very nearly setting Barry’s house ablaze?

Clark was one of the first people to arrive at the Flash’s residence that day. Having agreed to come early to help set up. Barry had explained that he wanted to Superman to be the one to help him set up because then they could both move at super speed and Barry wouldn’t feel bad leaving another league member in the dust.

Noire had been quick to correct Barry and say that Clark was the only one that had picked up his phone. 

Regardless of the reason, Clark had been more than happy to help out. Barry did tend to move too fast for his own good so Clark made a conscious effort to slow down and fix up the house for the gathering at a normal human pace. From the moment he stepped foot in the house, Barry was positively buzzing. He didn’t stay in one place for more than a few seconds and his mouth was running faster than his brain could keep up. 

Admittedly it had been a while since the league gathered for a reason that was not directly related to hero work. Barry must have been as excited as he was nervous. A jittery Flash could be a handful and Clark found himself concerned for the house’s well being after Barry left the BBQ unattended for the tenth time to rush off and do something else.

It did help that the speedster had a shadow trailing idly behind him. At his own pace Noire went through the house, turning off potential fire hazards and picking up whatever Barry had dropped when he rush off to see to something else. 

Clark didn’t have the heart to chide Barry’s recklessness. It was a relief to see Barry in such high spirits and back on his feet. His rapid healing had made the wound he’d gotten fighting in Central City earlier that week a very short inconvenience and Barry was back to his full health within the day. Actually Clark found himself being more conscious of the Flash’s mental state than his physical one. Since his misadventure with the Crooked Man he’d been a little bit quieter. 

Of course Barry didn’t let things knock him down for too long and while he hadn’t been this keyed up in a while, it was easy to see he’d moved on from the experience. If it still dragged on his mind, Barry kept it to himself. 

Clark decided to use a stepladder to do some of the higher hanging ornaments. Naturally he didn’t need one, but Clark did not share Barry’s need to rush through some of the more human aspects of a party set up. 

“You could float.” Superman was surprised when a quiet voice spoke to him from the ground. So much so he almost lost his footing on the ladder, Noire did have a tendency to sneak up on people. Another attribute he was adding to the rapidly growing list of Bruce influences. “Why are you doing it like a human?” Noire continued flatly, unperturbed by Superman’s jolt of surprise. 

“Well…” Clark stumbled a bit, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. Noire’s red eyes were staring at him unblinkingly and it was a little hard not to be unnerved by his staring. Evidently Noire hadn’t felt the need for his contacts today – they all knew his real eye colour anyway. 

“It’s more fun this way.” He tried to explain but Noire just kept looking at him. “I mean, setting up for a party is something you do for fun – to remember the day with your friends?” He did not mean for it to sound so unsure but the kid was still just _staring_ at him. 

Then finally Noire dropped his gaze to the roll of coloured tissue paper in his hands. “Fun, huh?” Clark caught the quiet mumble and watched as Noire walked away from him without another word and began to hang up some of the decorations. He noticed that Noire did not fly either.

Smiling to himself Clark went back to his own work before hearing a loud crash echoing from upstairs. Barry had just vanished up the steps a few seconds ago. Both Noire and Clark caught one another staring at the ceiling and finally Noire let out a tired sigh. “I’ll go see what he’s done.” Noire left his work to go and see what disaster Barry had caused and Clark bit back a small chuckle. 

It was a relief to know that Barry didn’t have this house all to himself.

Clark listened for any signs that the situation upstairs was getting worse but all the feedback he got was Noire’s voice crackling like a whip and Barry saying something about spider webs. Content that it was nothing life threatening, Clark let the sound of their argument fade into the background as a dull buzz in the back of his mind. The world was so full of sound, it took work to figure out how to focus on or blur out the various commotions around it. 

Just as he was putting up the final roll of tissue paper, Clark smelt something that was a bit too burnt for his liking. Caught between a sigh and chuckle, he left the inside of the house to go and see what Barry had inadvertently burnt in his attempt to juggle twenty things at once. There was nothing wrong with slowing down for a moment to make sure you did something right, rather that try to do everything quickly and poorly.

When Clark found the BBQ was beginning to smoke a bit, he tried his damndest to save the meat Barry had tossed onto it but unfortunately the insides were still cold and the outside a terrible scorched looking colour. At the very least Barry had bought the food in bulk, and Clark wondered if it was all for the speedster and his high metabolism or if he’d really accounted for the loss of all these sausages.

Checking back in with the pair upstairs Clark paused momentarily; catching more subdued tones and promptly decided that it was not a conversation he had any part listening to. With Barry and Noire occupied for the time being, Clark decided to take the cooking into his own hands and began to pull out from fresh sausages to throw onto the BBQ.

While the temperature was lowered and the first of the sausages hit the scalding plate with a noisy sizzle and hiss, Clark found himself an apron. He counted his lucky stars that Barry hadn’t gotten out one of his more novel aprons. There were no funny remarks or pictures on the plain white apron Clark slipped on. He’d seen Barry with the abs apron or the traditional, kiss the cook one before. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to find those ones this time – wouldn’t be surprising if someone had hidden them from him.

By the time the first batch of sausages needed pricking and turning, the first guest had arrived. Clark heard them knocking and hesitated in leaving the meat alone. He knew he could speed through the interaction like Barry would, but wasn’t that the same choice that got the last batch burnt to a crisp? Thankfully the choice was easily taken out of his hands as Barry did run to the door, all too excitedly flinging it open to greet his guest. 

Diana. Her voice was about as distinctive as Barry’s was. Smooth and firm – easy to listen to and effective for blunt observations when need be. Clark smiled faintly to himself as he glanced up from his work to look through the open glass doors to see if he could catch a glimpse of the woman. Seeing Diana in regular clothes was still something Clark was coming to terms with. That happened when you saw a colleague out of their suit for the first time. Diana so rarely wore civilian clothes, so Clark was still adjusting to the sight. 

The woman rounded the corner not a moment later and her eyes did that wonderful thing that tended to when they met with a friend’s. A subtle softening and warmth that never failed to make Clark’s heart positively buzz. He’d heard people say that it was wonderful to be liked by those that liked few and Clark found himself in the fortunate position of being liked by a fair few of these people. Diana was by no means as unfriendly as a certain Bat he knew but there was an honor to being acknowledged by the woman. Even more so to be trusted by her. 

“Clark.” Her tone was just as friendly as her eyes. “You’re here early?” Clark noticed her gaze slipping up to the food Clark was preparing with a faint smile tugging on her lips. “And cooking?”

Judging by her tone alone Clark could guess her thoughts. They both thought it was a good thing that Clark was the one minding the cooking while Barry kept getting distracted by his own excitement. “I thought they could use a hand.” He said with a small, sheepish shrug. 

Diana glanced over her shoulder, back towards the hallway Barry had promptly vanished from. “He seems happy.” Was her simple comment and Clark found himself humming in agreement easily enough. From there Diana lent her hand to the final preparations and with her assistance things managed to go a bit more smoothly. 

None of the food ended up being burnt under their care, Noire was able to finish his final decorations all the while keeping two feet firmly planted on the ground and Barry’s buzzing caused no more problems once he was put on greeting duty. Gradually the house began to fill up with familiar faces. Oliver showed up with Dinah and a sheepish smile of his own as he presented a gifted bottle of wine to Barry. He’d apologized, only having remembered that – while wine was an acceptable house party gift – Barry couldn’t get drunk on this stuff. It was one of those few occasions where the lack of thought made the gift that much more entertaining and Barry hadn’t seemed to mind in the slightest. 

As Oliver and Dinah had shown up with J'onn only seconds behind, Barry was beginning to show signs of actual anxiety in his brief moments of stillness. Clark noticed he seemed to be focusing a lot on the sky and the door, almost like a puppy waiting for someone to come home. It didn’t take him long to figure out which guest Barry was so eagerly waiting on.

While the others began to settle in, Clark took a moment away from managing the food to approach Barry – he trusted Diana to keep the house from burning down. The poor speedster was looking rather impatient by the time Clark found him in the entrance hallway.

“Oh. Hey Supes.” Barry greeted in his normal cheery way but Clark found the hello to be a little more subdued than normal. 

“He’ll be here.” Clark encouraged simply. Barry flushed faintly when he was caught out. Clark could hardly blame him; Hal had the most terrible habit of disappearing off world without warning for long periods of time. He’d only just gotten back and it had been made pretty clear that Barry wanted to see more of his friend while he was home.

Clark smiled and told Barry that there was no way Hal would miss the little get together. Of course he sounded sure of himself, certain that Hal wouldn’t disappoint, but should he for some reason not show up – he had better have a good reason not to when Clark found him.

“Thanks, Clark.” Barry murmured, and he couldn’t figure out if Barry sounded embarrassed or disheartened. Then, in that wonderful way that Barry always managed to– he smiled. The expression brightened his face and in turn the room around him even seemed to become more alive. 

“Well, there’s still a party to get to.” He announced passing Clark with a small tap on the shoulder. 

He watched Barry go and knew that the smile on his face must have still been there when he reached the backyard with the other guests, because the second Noire saw him there was a sharp comment about him wearing a stupid expression. Really, Barry was incredible in that way. No matter how beaten down he felt – it seemed that smiling came easily to Barry.

Because a smile could lift someone’s heart when everything else put it down. Clark admired that more than he could even begin to express. He hoped that when he offered a smile that it would give even half the comfort that Barry’s did.

With the sausages that Clark had saved, there was easily enough food to go around as their group grew in size over the first hour. When it was nearing the half an hour mark everyone had arrived excluding one Hal Jordan and Bruce Wayne. Admittedly Batman himself had never outright agreed to attend this get together and wherever Wayne went – the media usually followed. 

But if Oliver Queen could make an appearance without any trouble than surely Bruce could manage. They all knew he was slyer than the media knew – he could out maneuver them in his sleep. So there was no excuse besides just not making time to come.

Finally there was a knock at the door and this time when Barry answered he was rewarded with a slightly embarrassed Hal. The man was half way through an apology about being late when Barry laughed and clapped him on the back. He showed up – that was good enough for their speedster. Jordan’s expression softened into a smile once he saw that Barry was smiling as well.

Clark watched as Barry urged Hal into the back yard to get him something to eat and drink. He also caught sight of Noire ducking behind a tree and practically hissing at Hal’s presence. Evidently some things never changed, he had thought maybe the two would warm to one another after having worked together to help Barry those few months earlier.

Give it more time. Clark knew that they could get along if they just had a little bit more time to get comfortable with one another.

With Hal now here and Barry practically glowing as he jumped from conversation to conversation with his friends – the day seemed complete.

Except Bruce still wasn’t here.

“Strange.” Clark mumbled to himself as he idly jabbed his fork into the food he had. “I really thought he’d come.”

Truly he had. Bruce was a prickly as a cactus and about as friendly as a drowned cat – but through all that he never failed to appear when need be. He’d been involved with Christmas at the Kent house hold and brought presents for his team mates when birthdays rolled around – admittedly it was usually cash – hell he’d even gone to Flash appreciation day. 

It felt strange that he wasn’t currently in the backyard eating fatty processed foods with them. 

Clark must have been dwelling on this too obviously, because Oliver clapped him on the shoulder with a wide, encouraging grin. Odd, hadn’t he been the one offering encouragement to Barry not too long ago?

“Don’t look so glum, big blue. Brucie can take his dear sweet time – what was it? Fashionably late, and you know how Bruce loves his fashion.” It was impossible not to smile a bit at the jab at Wayne’s public persona. They’d made plenty of them when all their secret identities had been shared.

In all fairness Bruce Wayne as Batman was an easy target. How could you not laugh at the idea of a rich, spoiled, playboy being their dark and brooding boss of a Bat?

“Whatever you say, Ollie.” Clark relented with an easy going smile. He was just a little surprised by Bruce’s absence, not upset. It would be silly to be upset that Bruce wasn’t here. “Barry seems pretty thrilled, doesn’t he?” Clark added, shifting the conversation rather jarringly. Thankfully Oliver didn’t push him on the matter. 

“Yeah, kid had me worried for a while there. But he looks as peppy as ever.” Oliver agreed, casually slinging an arm over Clark’s shoulders as they observed their speedster. The man was currently, with great gusto, retelling a story. Judging by his flailing and the bemused expressions on Diana and Oliver’s faces as he spoke – it was one of his many high-speed misadventures.

Most of those ended with him in a full body cast for a few hours. His pain was relatively short lived – he’d never learn.

Perhaps they’d all been treading too carefully around Barry these past few months. Sometimes a team member needed that space and consideration – their line of work did tend to leave scars both physical and deeper. But Barry had come out of it just as they remembered him. There was something admirable about that.

“Oh, I never did thank you for earlier this week.” Clark remembered with a small jolt of alarm.

When he’d come to see how the Rogues were being gathered up – Oliver had been in the middle of rounding up the last of their gang. An extraordinarily cheery villain by the name of Trickster had all sorts of toys apparently and Clark had almost gotten himself caught in an exploding Christmas present. It was no real threat as far as he was aware but at the time he had an unconscious White in his arms – it would have harmed the boy.

It was a great relief when Oliver shot it out of his path and high up into the sky where it harmlessly exploded into sparks and confetti.

“Don’t mention it, Blue. You looked like you had your hands full with the kid at the time.” Oliver shrugged it off with a small grin. “Tricks is one hell of a villain.”

Clark gave him a rather bemused look at that. Oliver shrugged unconcerned by the expression.

“Hey, they’re evil. Doesn’t mean every single one of them has to be so incredibly serious and uptight.” Clark was trying to fight the smile on his face, it was such a silly thing to say but he may have a point. Even villains could use some light heartedness on the odd occasion it seemed.

Just when Clark thought he might actually voice some sort of agreement to that sentiment, there was a distant knock at the door. Barry was there in an instant of course but it seemed most of the guests had actually heard that one. After all, they all knew at least one person was currently missing.

Sure enough when Barry opened the door with a ready smile and happy greeting – there stood Bruce, out of his uniform and into the closest he could get to casual clothes. Clark felt himself relax when he saw Bruce, pleased that he came. It was important for the Bat to get out of the cave and socialize from time to time. 

Bruce looked a touch uncomfortable. He never let himself look completely vulnerable where he could help it, but while his Brucie persona was accustomed to lavish parties and the Bat accustomed to work only – this friendly homely gathering must have felt strange to every version of Bruce.

Clark took that as a sign that it was the real man he was looking at. Not Batman, not Brucie – just stubborn, uncomfortable Bruce. 

As Barry greeted Bruce with a barrage of happy comments, the man easily slid inside moving in between Barry’s chattering as he hung up his own coat. Offering up the occasional answer when Barry took a moment to breathe. 

While he dealt with the happy speedster, Oliver clapped Clark on the shoulder with a knowing smile. “What do ya know big blue – Spooky showed.” Then a little more slyly he added. “Fashionably late – of course.” 

Waving off Oliver’s light teasing, Clark at least tried to appear somewhat chiding but couldn’t quite pull off the expression without a smile. Satisfied Ollie cheerfully left his side and set off in search of his birdie’s side again. Clark couldn’t help but envy just how perfectly matched the pair seemed. 

Perhaps that wasn’t the only thing he envied. A partner that had a secret identity of their own was nothing to scoff at – it meant no secrets. No lies to cover up why you had to vanish abruptly in every disaster. Admittedly Clark was more than a little envious of the pair. No species barrier, no secret history or superhero persona – just the two of them.

It was enough to make anyone feel a touch isolated in comparison. 

He must have been staring because the space behind him was abruptly occupied and with all of his superhuman abilities, somehow Clark still jumped when Bruce cleared his throat purposefully.

“B-Bruce!” Clark let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding before quickly smiling. There was no reason to let trivial thoughts like that drag down his mood, especially when Bruce had really come to the gathering. “It’s good to see you here.” 

‘Out of the house, socializing’ went without being said. Clark had no doubt that Alfred would have covered those bases with Bruce already. It was comforting to know that the Bat was never truly alone in that big house of his as Robins came and went – keeping it ever lively and always with Alfred there to keep Bruce in check. 

Apparently unimpressed by something Clark presented, Bruce merely made a low sound in the back of his throat in recognition that Clark had greeted him at all. Abruptly Clark was concerned that Bruce was still agitated with him – the bat could hold a grudge like no other. 

“Bruce, if this is about Alois then I--” 

“White’s bail has been posted.” Bruce cut across him sharply, none of the smooth navigation he’d used when addressing Barry earlier – yes he was still obviously angry.

Abruptly Clark was hit with a barrage of emotions; first there was that same sheepish feeling that flooded him whenever Bruce was angry with him. Next came disbelief, and eventually confusion and then finally something like hurt. Maybe even guilt. He’d told Alois that he’d return to hear his answer but before he even had the chance someone had paid his bail? It was unlikely Alois would stick around just to give him an answer – even a refusal.

Except…who had paid his bail? The Rogues were the only group affiliated with White, the only friends that Clark knew of him having and they were all currently in Iron Heights. Even if they had been roaming free, there’d be no legal process to getting Alois out had they been responsible.

It was only when Clark followed this train of thought that his gaze really focused on Bruce. It was still very obvious to him that the bat was irritated with him, however his standoffish nature didn’t seem exclusively anger driven. If Clark had to pick a word for it he would have chosen… apprehension? 

That was considerably more alarming than anger when coming from Bruce.

“Bruce?” He didn’t miss the way the older man’s shoulders tensed. “Who exactly paid his bail?”

There were rules for this sort of thing. Bail for metahumans wasn’t as simple as a regular criminal. More than just money – though there certainly was that – the poster was required to make some sort of case for the super human or at least for themselves being able to manage the criminal.

That sort of influence and reasoning, coupled with the money required, made it difficult for just anyone to give a super human a get out of jail free card. After all to release a superhuman from the law’s care required some security that they would not be able to or attempt to flee before their trial – if indeed there was to be one.

In cases like the Joker most simply skipped that whole process and threw them right back into Arkham. Although, admittedly, Gotham was more jaded than most placed.

All of this meant that the person posting bail had to be able to convince the court that he or she could make sure that the metahuman would be delivered back to them on time without fail. For super powered beings it was difficult to find people with that much control over them.

Clark did not know of anyone who could or for any reason, _would_ provide this service for Alois. Perhaps Bruce would have after Clark got an answer for Alois and they could set to reforming Alois – showing him a better way.

With all of that in mind, Clark had a growing sense of anxity when Bruce turned to look at him. He was looking at him with that calculating stare, the one he usually used when judging how emotional Clark was going to get over something he considered trivial.

He almost knew the answer from that alone. 

“Luthor posted the bail, Clark.”

In an instant Clark felt his stomach drop out from under him and he could only stare at Bruce in mute horror.

Bruce thought he had a prejudice, it was obvious in his expression. But Clark had good reason to feel this nauseating feeling whenever Luthor was thrown into the equation. Bruce would have felt the same had it been the Joker’s name he said just now. As it was, Bruce looked like he intended to talk Clark down before the conversation even fully started.

“ _Luthor_?” Clark repeated, voice lowering. It wasn’t that this was a secret, but Clark did not want to taint Barry’s party with even the mere sound of Luthor’s name. “What the hell is Luthor doing sniffing around Central City?”

“As an educated guess, I’d assume he only took notice because you were involved.” Reasonable as ever. Bruce adjusted his sleeves while talking, keeping a level tone while Clark’s voice began to shift with his disbelief.

“Why did he post Alois’s bail?” Clark continued, still in shock. “I don’t understand.”

“Unfortunately I can’t say exactly what his reasons are.” Bruce admitted quietly, eyes narrowing a fraction. This must have been frustrating for him as well, Clark knew how being at a loss dug into every nerve in the bat’s body.

“This is the first I’ve heard of Luthor interacting with White.” He continued quietly. “If he’d been in contact with White previously I would have known.”

Clark said nothing, didn’t dare peruse that passing thought. Bruce said it as if he’d been observing White – which no doubt he had been – but Clark read it more as some sort of break of faith. As if he’d expected Alois to openly share that information with him. Everyone knew that Bruce kept a close eye on all the criminals he could, even those not within Gotham strictly. 

However Clark exclusively knew how closely Bruce had been interacting with Alois. He wasn’t sure if Bruce realized the extent of his knowledge on the matter and for the sake of sparing Bruce’s pride – Clark wouldn’t clue him in. 

Regardless it bothered him to see Bruce so obviously feeling betrayed. So Clark tried to ease that feeling in the only way he could.

“The Rogues generally seem to dislike Luthor.” Clark suggested slowly and immediately felt Bruce sharp gaze train on him. He would not doubt be picking apart every word he said. “If White was working with Luthor before this, I’m sure there would have been some sign of it?”

Unsure as to whether or not his attempt to ease Bruce’s mind worked or not, Clark waited patiently as Bruce mulled it all over in silence. Then suddenly Bruce whipped his head around to scrutinize him and Clark very nearly jumped a second time. 

“What is it?” He asked uncertainly as Bruce’s eyes narrowed on him.

“What did you tell White?” Bruce asked firmly. He no doubt had an idea what Clark had told the boy but now that Luthor had crawled his way onto the scene the bat was no doubt going over all the information a second time with a new perspective. 

Clark had no problem sharing everything with Bruce but he held back for a moment, deciding to use this as a sort of bargaining chip.

“Come eat a sausage sandwich and talk with people for at least half an hour.” The refusal showed on Bruce’s face before he could vocalize it and Clark pushed on ahead, not giving him the chance. “You did not come here to work – you came here because Barry invited us out for lunch. Leave the cowl at home, Bruce.”

He’d won. He could see it in the way Bruce glared at him, the silence more telling than anything he could have said.

While it practically drove Clark mad inside his own head, not knowing what Luthor was doing – he could put his own prejudice aside for a few hours. They had come here because Barry asked them to – this was no time for work and so long as no one was in danger, they could afford a few hours to be human.

“Oi, Spooky! Stop hogging big blue and get your asses out here!” Someone shouted from the main gathering in the backyard. Hal, judging by the words alone. Clark could practically hear Bruce roll his eyes and then with one last glare for good measure he stepped into the yard to greet everyone else. Probably intending to verbally pummel Hal into the dirt.

And much to Clark’s smug satisfaction, he even grabbed a sausage sandwich on the way. 

He was under no illusions however – once the day was out Bruce would interrogate him and Clark would just have to deal with it. Punishment for his bargaining. 

Clark didn’t linger much longer, hurrying out to play peacekeeper when he heard the shouting start. He definitely just heard Hal yelp something about ‘the brat trying to bite him again’.

Ah, he’d forgotten just how chaotic it got when they all got together without their suits.

Half an hour became a whole hour. A whole hour turned into three when Oliver pulled out Barry’s old dartboard and issued a challenge. No body stood a chance against Ollie. 

Lunch turned into an afternoon drink and that ran long into the night until the idea of take out was thrown up into the air. The sun was setting by the time Barry returned with a mountain of food from four separate fast food outlets. The late afternoon get together didn’t show any signs of ending and Clark almost lost himself in the simple fun of it all.

He stopped waiting for Bruce to pull him aside, stopped waiting for Bruce to make an excuse to end the night early – and just started to enjoy himself. 

Clark laughed freely when Oliver and Barry started bickering about who would win in a fight – throwing out all kinds of different fights they’d fought in to try and one up each other – only to be shut down when Diana simply said they’d both lose to her. Smaller competitions and arguments broke out among the group, comparing skills and triumphs to try and find their one true victor.

When Barry had started getting loud, fueled purely by his entertainment and Oliver got silly, fueled almost exclusively by his drinking – the two turned to Clark demanding he weigh in.

Smartly Clark declined and distanced himself from the conflict all together – he didn’t dare try to prove he was the victor in their imaginary battles. Partially because he could all but feel Bruce daring him with his eyes to try it – daring him to speak up just so that he could be easily cut down. 

He was brave but no one was _that_ brave. 

As the night dragged on and a select few people enjoyed their drink maybe a touch too much, Clark was pleased to see that Bruce had relaxed. Only took him nearly five hours to actually loosen up enough to be considered pleasant, normal company. 

It was actually deeply pleasing to see that Bruce allowed himself to have even one drink that night. Clark knew that Bruce almost always pretended to drink when he was in the public eye – never willing to let alcohol kill his senses in case something happened. So seeing him accept even one offer of wine from Barry was a display of trust and familiarity that Clark wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon. 

Some others in the group were having more trouble with not drinking than they were with drinking. Barry, the poor speedster, couldn’t get so much as a buzz with the normal bottles of wine the group was breaking out. It was a great relief to him when Bruce spoke up about bringing a gift of his own.

At first they’d laughed when Bruce presented the bottle of wine – caught between how ridiculously expensive it seemed and the unfortunate never ending state of sobriety that Barry was forced to endure.

Never underestimate the bat.

Bruce didn’t tell anyone that he’d played with the alcohol a little himself. Barry must have known because he swooped on the bottle greedily – it was half an hour later and Barry was showing signs of being intoxicated. Clark couldn’t help but wonder how long Bruce had been working on a concoction to actually affect a speedster’s metabolism.

“A byproduct.” Bruce explained flippantly as he took another drink from his own cup. Clark frowned a bit as he studied Bruce’s face, when the man noticed he smiled ruthlessly and Clark bit back a sigh.

So it wasn’t an effort to find a way of the Flash to drink so much as a happy accident while Bruce was looking for safety measures to take against speedsters? He really wasn’t surprised at this point.

Then at some point Barry caught Noire reaching for a drink of his own and that sparked a whole new argument. 

“Ah-ah-ah! No, no.” Barry chided quickly as he snatched up the bottle that Noire had been reaching for. “None for you, Noire.” 

“What?” The sheer amount of insult packed into that single word was almost enough to make Clark choke on his drink with laughter. “Why not?” He demanded, sounding every bit like a child. 

“You’re too young.” Barry answered reasonably, however his over dramatic gestures and tone gave away his slight tipsiness and made it hard to take him seriously as a parental role.

“The drinking age here is twenty one, kiddo.” Oliver chimed in sounding more like he was baiting Noire than reasoning with him.

“How young do I _look_ to you?” Noire crowed furiously, the boys face beginning to flush an unflattering shade of red. 

Oliver pretended to think about it and then, to add fuel to the fire, he said. “Maybe twenty one?”

Noire grinned ruthlessly at Barry and then tried to grab the drink only to have the speedster zip out of reach, holding it far above Noire’s head. The boy might look older but he was still a good head shorter than Barry. Than most everyone here actually. He was a shorty.

“You might _look_ like you’re an adult but you’re not!” Barry protested, scowling at Ollie who shrugged innocently. 

“I’m not a child.” Noire spat back vehemently.

“You’re not even five years old.” Bruce suddenly spoke, voice simple and unquestionable. “Too young.”

Noire’s entire face exploded with colour, Clark could see the red reaching up to his ears. He was caught between sympathy and amusement. It must have been difficult for Noire, looking so much older than he really way.

However Clark could not in all good conscience let a minor – even one that looked as old as Noire – drink. They’d had this argument with Billy in the past. He wasn’t allowed to drink even while he was Shazam and certainly not when he’d powered back down to Billy. Noire would have to abide by the same rules for at least a while longer. 

“Besides, you don’t look that old yet.” Barry continued, tone becoming chiding but also victorious as he educated Noire. “You’re still a kid.”

“All parents see their children like that.” Diana mused, not meaning to be insulting with the comment but it seemed to be some sort of last straw for Noire.

“I’m _not_ a child!” He shouted, knocking Barry’s arm from his shoulder as he stomped off. Just like a child would.

“Noire.” Barry complained more than he seemed truly upset and trailed after the furious boy making apologies and pleas for Noire not to be angry. Clark smiled faintly as the pair went and it looked like Hal was moving to follow – he’d remained surprisingly sober through out the night. Perhaps in an effort to keep himself vigilant while he was spending time with Barry.

It was good to see him trying so hard to make it up to Barry. 

“The child needs a firmer hand.” Diana said lowly, clearly not impressed with Noire’s bratty behaviour. Clark would be a liar if he said he didn’t understand where she was coming from. Barry did tend to spoil Noire when it came to indulging his hostile behaviour. Although Clark dreaded to think how trying that under Diana or Bruce’s parenting would go. 

At the very least it would probably work that poor attitude out of Noire. 

“He’s almost as much of a handful as your boy is, Bruce.” Oliver mused as he watched them go, not at put out by the display as Diana was. Bruce of course took vague offense to this and scowled silently at Oliver who shrugged unapologetically. “What can I say? Damian is like a little monster version of you.”

“I was not a difficult child.” Bruce replied dryly, not bothering to look at Oliver anymore.

“I feel that Alfred would have a rather different tune to play if we asked.” Diana answered, sounding just as flat and reasonable as Bruce. Not willing to verbally bite back at Diana and knowing that there was every chance one of them might really ask Alfred – Bruce opted to remain silent. 

This seemed to be answer enough and the group broke out into barely contained chuckles and snickers. Oliver hid his amusement the least.

Bruce’s retaliation was to rather calmly ask Oliver if he’d told Dinah about the day he decided to fully join the Justice League and what it had been that convinced him.

“H-Hey, bats!” Oliver leapt up, practically flinging himself at Bruce to cover his mouth. “I think that’s enough story time, right?” 

Point sufficiently proven, Bruce smirked smugly and eased back into his seat next to Clark. His comment had sparked some interest in Canary and when Oliver joined her again she began to probe and tease, looking for what it was that embarrassed him so much.

Judging by the easy smirk on her face – she already knew full well. Oliver just hadn’t figured it out yet.

The night went on and even when Clark caught the sound of angry words being thrown out the front of the house between Noire, Barry and Hal – he managed to politely tune out the domestic dispute and enjoy the night. When they returned, the mood briefly plummeted but sensing that the evening was at risk of turning sour, Ollie jumped into action. 

The music was turned up to frankly painful levels, the neighbors must have liked Barry and awful lot to put up with it and not contact the police. Oliver then demanded people start dancing and after pulling a reluctant Hal into the fray and being joined by Dinah the mood finally did lighten. Hal had always been a rather good third wheel to Canary and Green Arrow – before long even his bad mood lifted enough to properly start dancing.

By properly, Clark of course meant that it was embarrassing and uncoordinated if not at least passionate. Much like their rendition of American Pie. No one could claim they weren’t putting their heart into it – now if only they could try putting some tune into it. 

The longer this went on the more ridiculous the whole ordeal got. Barry seemed to be choking on his own laughter when Hal began to work the pole and Clark had to cover his eyes, feeling embarrassed for Hal seeing as he obviously had no sense of shame. Diana laughed along with the crew and while she and Bruce did not join in the dancing they were contributing vocally and with the occasional clap. 

When Barry got up to dance the whole thing became a touch competitive. His speed was seen as a challenge and Hal matched him with the sheer confidence he moved with. Feeling affronted by the children attempting to steal their thunder, Oliver and Dianh set out the put them back in their place with a duo dance number that Clark ended up openly gaping at.

How they moved together so seamlessly and danced with that level of passion was beyond him. While watching the pair absolutely destroy Barry and Hal’s attempts to steal the stage, Clark wondered if one day he could sweep Lois away with a dance like that.

The thought had him blushing up to his ears. 

“And that kids, is how you dance.” Oliver announced as he dipped Dianh low to the ground, her leg curling around him in a display of flexibility that Clark couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Barry applauded while Hal looked a touch sulky at having been thoroughly beaten in the dance department. Over all Oliver’s attempts to lighten the mood had gone above and beyond. Barry’s smile was positively glowing and even Hal’s tenseness had left him. 

“Alright, alright – one more round?” Hal suggested before thinking better of it and adding. “No competition, just some good, none competitive dancing.” It was unlikely that would happen.

“Princess?” Hal addressed Diana, bowing low with an offered hand and a mischievous smirk on his face. “Would you grace the dance floor with your presence?” They didn’t actually have much of a dance floor but that wasn’t going to stop them. 

Diana returned a smirk of her own and pretended to consider it. “Only if Bruce here joins us.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t.” Bruce tried to refuse but Hal and Diana didn’t seem to be having any of it. Grasping Bruce by the wrist and pulling him up onto his feet.

“Don’t you know? Tall, dark and brooding looks great on the dance floor.” Hal taunted, getting a pointed glare from Bruce, but he didn’t fight Diana when she urged him onto the dance floor

Clark had been content just to watch and stay well out of it. Bruce would be damned if he let the boy scout sit out while he was harassed into joining. Clark barely got a yelp out before Bruce had dragged him into the fray by the hem of his shirt. 

“J'onn! Come join us.” Barry implored the Martian who had been staring at the lot like they’d lost what little they had of their mind. He made some half hearted attempts to pacify Barry without actually going to dance. Clark never did get to see if he managed to talk his way out of it as he got pulled into a mess of ridiculous dancing and the occasional good move that Hal managed to pull.

“Noire.” Clark caught Barry say the boy’s name next and for a second he was worried that the fight they’d had earlier might carry over into the night but instead he caught a glimpse of Barry pulling Noire into the mess with the rest of them. He hadn't even realised Noire had come back inside.

The boy complained of course but Barry’s smile was rather convincing and even Noire’s bitter nature couldn’t fight it, before long the awkward child was at least trying to join in. Clark caught sight of him observing and then trying to copy Hal’s movements. Mirroring the older man’s actions to try and learn how to dance.

He wasn’t getting it, two left feet it seemed. Hal must have noticed that Noire was mirroring him at some point and the dance moves he busted out just got increasingly silly and difficult. Red in the face and flustered, Noire fought to keep up and before long it became a sort of nonverbal fight between the two. 

Clark had to laugh – even dancing could be an argument with the pair. But Barry was pleased, dancing away and occasionally taking Noire by the hands and pulling him into a different dance. Like the one a adult would share with a child – Noire didn’t have an protests about being treated as a child now. He tried to look unhappy but Clark caught the smile he couldn’t quite hide.

Before long Clark forgot why he’d been sitting down at all, it was all so light hearted and easy that pretty soon Clark was just enjoying himself along with everyone else. This must have been the same sentiment that kept Bruce away from his bat persona all night.

Clark was happy just spending at least one night the same way a group of normal human friends might.

And if they collapsed, claiming lounges and patches of carpet after many hours of being absurd, it was nothing more than a fun memory to hold onto the next day. If Hal fell asleep with Barry sprawled over the lounge, and Noire collapsed, exhausted under that same lounge – it would be just another thing to laugh at in the morning. 

When the silent agreement that everyone would be staying the night passed and everyone found somewhere to place their tired selves for the night, Clark found himself placing a blanket over those that had not made it to a spare bed. Bruce had nodded off in an arm chair across from the sleeping trip on the lounge and while both J’ohn and Diana had made it home – Clark decided to stay and keep an eye on the rest of the kids.

Even when Bruce inevitably complained about the waste of time and went back to being Batman, or they were faced with difficult decisions and dark days. They could still hold onto this one night of silly, normal human antics.

And Clark could always be grateful that Bruce allowed them that.

 

…  
…

 

 

If he’d been expecting anything from Lex Corp – it wouldn’t have been quite this. 

When Alois took his first step into the building, his face instinctively scrunched up in distaste when he saw how perfectly _white_ the whole place was.

The floors were polished so thoroughly that Alois could just make out his hazy figure staring back at him. They might as well have just pathed the ground with glass – go all the way. Everything was sharp angles, shine and polish. If it didn’t shimmer then it reflected Alois’s own uncomfortable expression back at him. 

Unconsciously Alois clenched his hands into fists. A small outlet for his discomfort to take besides his words. Lex was not with him, he hadn’t seen the man since the impromptu prison visit. 

Instead he got Lex’s proxies. A steely woman with dead eyes and black hair had been the one to greet Alois when a car came for him. Passing from his jailors cuffs and into the care of a devil, Alois felt absolutely no respite. His physical bonds might have been taken away as he left Iron Heights – but he still felt very much like he was restricted. 

Alois was not ashamed to admit that fear had a slight influence over his actions. After he’d been left to stew on what he’d agreed to, Alois began to fear more than simple failure. He had no doubt that Lex would do whatever he deemed fit to get his way and Alois was under no illusions of just how valuable his life was to the man.

Long story short – it had no value. 

Overnight after Lex’s visit he had not been able to sleep. Horrible thoughts of being strapped down and torn apart crept into his mind when his eyes were shut. They crawled through his thoughts, infecting every single one – chasing away any hope of sleep. 

It could be said that Alois had some minor trust issues; admittedly no one _should_ trust Luthor.

All he could do now that the bargain had been struck was be wary in all he did. Keep Luthor satisfied until the deal was done and should it seem that at any point Luthor was shifting towards a less consensual partnership – to run. Run as far and fast as he possibly could and then hide.

Alois wondered if he could. If there was really any chance that there was any small dark crevice in the world that would hide him from Luthor. If he could hide from the bat, he could hide from Luthor surely.

He did not fancy attempting it.

So he’s been compliant, civil even, as the icy woman came to fetch him. He hadn’t asked questions as he sat in the back of the sleek black car they’d come to gather him with. He didn’t make comment and only spoke when he was addressed – which in the entirety of the trip from Central to Metropolis – was a total of three times.

He did not learn his escort’s name, it was unimportant and he wasn’t sure if she’d give him an answer if he asked. Alois honestly did not care either way, information might be useful but it was also damning to have. It was vaguely amusing to think that while knowledge was power – ignorance was safety.

Just as he did not speak, the woman seemed content to keep to herself. Alois wondered if she was always this unfriendly and robotic. Working for Luthor that lack of compassion must have been a highly sought after trait. She must have been in a fairly secure position among Luthor’s staff. It was not hard to buy indifference with some humans.

Alois decided that if things went awry, he’d kill this woman if she got in the way. He didn’t feel any particular disdain for her – it was simply a matter of survival. He knew without a shred of doubt in his mind that this woman would stand idly over his body as it was torn apart for whatever it was Luthor wanted if things came to that point. 

She felt nothing for him and he felt nothing for her – this was simply business and sometimes that meant killing off threats. Alois was comfortable in the knowledge that they’d both be willing to kill the other should it be beneficial to them.

Willing certainly, but able? That was a while other ball game and Alois had never played before.

The unnamed robot of a woman had lead him into the Lex Corp building without so much as a word. Not a single introduction or instruction – simply a motion for Alois to follow her out of the car and into the alarmingly human looking building.

Of course it was huge, reaching up towards the heavens as if it might somehow find god if it simply climbed high enough. However, despite it sharp modern design there was nothing alarming about it at face value. Just another building the humans had constructed for themselves.

Perhaps he’d been expecting something more insidious, some sort of dungeon or mind control facility. Something more obvious. With Luthor’s lengthy history of unbalanced choices both illegal, questionable and every thing in between, Alois must have drawn up an exaggerated version of the man.

Stylish, modern and intimidating with a distinct lack of empathy – all unnerving but hardly criminal.

Vaguely Alois thought about the safe houses that the rogues frequented. They were never anything like this. Usually they were run down, abandoned and cheap. They’d been well hidden, dark and dingy a good portion of the time. Alois had always considered them to be lacking and very much a criminal setting.

He much preferred them.

“Mercy.” Alois glanced up, somewhat surprised to see Luthor’s figure appear at the top of the stairs, wearing that politician’s smile of his. Alois had thought it unlikely that Luthor would show again in person – after all he had other people to do that for him. 

Alois leered; human servitude was an interesting trade. How much did it cost to buy loyalty and then how much more to buy a life? Luthor had more than enough certainly. 

“Thank you so much for seeing Mr. Harlow here safely.” He spoke so graciously, each word dripping with an inflection that Alois could not quite place. It was not quite mocking but it still left a feeling of being belittled in its wake.

Alois peered at the stony woman from the corner of his eye. He had not expected her to continue sporting that blank, frankly unfriendly expression when Luthor approached. Lex was her boss after all, but Mercy remained just as stoic and icy as she’d been with him. 

He dared not be amused by her blunt answering nod. No pleasure in being praised and no interest in the pretty words Luthor let slip – Alois almost understood how a man like Lex would opt to keep a woman like Mercy around. So few things must have entertained the billionaire. 

Then Lex’s eyes were on Alois again and he unconsciously straightened out his spine. Luthor’s smile was plastered on but Alois was sure he saw it twitch upwards, just a little too close to a sneer – bordering on an honest expression. 

Reflexively Alois’s fingers clenched into fists, reaching out to feel for his constructs just under his flesh. It took a great deal of effort to sooth his nerves enough to not call them up. How much fear could a simple smile inspire? 

“Shall we?” Then like a spell was broken, Luthor spoke, hand gesturing out towards the endless pearly halls. Alois’s fingers unclenched but his hands remained securely behind his back. A small jerky nod and Alois was carrying himself closer to Luthor, parting from the robotic woman’s side. 

“Sir.” Her voice, sharp and emotionless. Alois didn’t catch even a hint of a question in her tone, but perhaps Luthor really was sharper than he gave him credit for. That or he knew this woman’s every mannerism inside and out – like he’d created her from the ground up. Which was more unsettling Alois couldn’t say. 

“It’s quite alright, Mercy. That will be all.” Alois didn’t look over his shoulder as he listened to the woman’s heels tap as she left them without another word. He did not take offense when the meaning for the interruption finally sank in. In fact Alois almost laughed at the absurdity of it 

“She thinks I’m liable to attack you.” He stated flatly as Luthor’s steps fell into sync with his own.

“Yes, so it seems.” Luthor hummed in agreement, sounding a touch too amused by the whole thing. Alois wasn’t sure who he was more offended for, himself or Mercy – it was as if Luthor thought both of them as children.

And are you?” Luthor asked smoothly, causing Alois’s stride to momentarily stutter. Without pausing in his own pace, Lex passed by Alois and continued down the empty hall.

Gathering his thoughts, Alois set out after Luthor again, matching his step while holding back a small distance, allowing the man to properly lead him. “If you aren’t sure yourself, why not take Mercy up on her offer to accompany us?” Alois asked irritably, knowing Luthor was just baiting him. “No. I wouldn’t dream of attacking you.”

A pause, and a moment of thought before adding snidely. “We’re friends now after all.”

Alois could just see Luthor’s lips twitch up into a sneer from where he trailed behind him. If Luthor insisted they act out the civility game, Alois was more than happy to play.

“Of course.” Luthor replied, parroting Alois’s sardonic tone. At least they were on the same page.

The halls followed the same colour scheme as the rest of the building, plenty of open spaces and steely edges. However as they walked, Alois found the place was fitted with an alarming amount of windows. As if Luthor were inviting scrutiny, his ever design choice screaming its sincerity. Look at me, look at how clean my hands are – try to find the fault in my perfection. 

Begrudgingly Alois had to admit that with such an open appearance and spotless interior – Luthor had quite the innocent performance. He wondered how many people bought into it, Alois almost found himself believing Luthor at times. But then there was the memory of his vicious smile and the deal they’d struck – killing Superman was hardly an innocent man’s game.

But the public could be swayed to believe anything, Alois didn’t fault them for that. He’d been taught what to think and feel when he’d been created as well – if it was all someone knew it was all they could be. Knowing this he didn’t feel anything besides a faint sympathy for those that lived and breathed the media. He couldn’t hate the ignorant when they had no way to think otherwise – he could hate the purposefully ignorant.

The people who refused to look beyond their base teachings and discover other ways of looking at the world.

People like his big brother who knew only one mindset and fought tooth and nail to defend it even in the face of overwhelming evidence of its inefficiency. 

Alois again paused, this time to look out of one of the huge, open windows. The hall passed between two buildings, leaving them suspended above the ground with nothing but the shape of the city and blue sky above. Alois wondered if this was what humans thought flying might feel like without the assitence of a machine. 

Actually…it was an alarmingly similar sensation.

The clouds stretching on endlessly in ahead of him and the ground left behind – just being suspended in the different colours of the sky. It was very much like flying, or at least the feeling was. To feel so small and weightless against the backdrop of a whole planet, knowing that it was only one among many. Alois did feel small – a feeling he knew was not unique to him. 

But a man like Luthor? Alois wasn’t sure that human knew what it was to feel small.

It felt like relief.

“Harlow?” Alois didn’t startle exactly, it was more like pulling himself back to attention after having been submerged underwater. Luthor had stopped walking a small ways ahead of him, turned to his side as if he could not muster the effort to entirely face Alois. “Something the matter?” 

Impatience wasn’t registering in Luthor’s tone just yet, just a note of mystification. Alois didn’t answer immediately and instead looked back out over Metropolis, it seemed like Luthor had the best view of the city and this level wasn’t even the top of the building.

Lex’s gaze followed White’s and seemed to have a moment of understanding.

“It’s not much like Gotham, is it?” Luthor mused and this time Alois did startle properly. Jumping to attention, fingers clasping more tightly around his wrists as his fists dug into the small of his back.

“Gotham?” Alois tested, tone guarded.

“Or Central City for that matter.” Luthor continued easily as he approached Alois to stand in the middle of the bridging pathway. “It must not look familiar to you. Metropolis is the city of progress – is it overwhelming?”

Refusing to feel insult for Central or Gotham at the implied superiority, Alois turned it gaze back to the city. Back to Luthor’s city. He considered what he thought of it, innovative and vast – nothing was done in halves here. Unlike Central city that was constantly bustling, rushing almost as fast as the Flash, or Gotham that seemed permanently cemented in a gothic period that better suited its bat – this place was something more like sunshine. 

There wasn’t a feeling of urgency or a perpetual gloom hanging over the city. Looking up at the sky again, seeing nothing but a white and blue sky with the sun hanging lazily above – Alois decided that this city’s superhero was very much a reflection of its own nature. 

“A touch.” He answered vaguely as his eyes dropped back down to the buildings.

“Do you prefer it?” Luthor continued, keeping the conversational tone. Alois was still picking apart his intentions, wondering what purpose this conversation served and what it was Luthor knew about him when the man added. “More than the slums of Gotham?”

Alois said nothing condemning, but he felt justified in assuming Luthor had done his research. Alois had spent months in the underground. He’d learnt things there that did not match the mentality he and his brother had been taught since birth – he had been ignorant going in and came out with a new awareness for the world. 

The Gotham underground belonged to far worse than he could ever hope to be. Alois was almost relieved that Noire spent his early days in Central City where things were far kinder.

How Luthor had found out about his movements and how much he knew was a mystery that Alois would leave well enough alone.

“It seems like a nice place to grow flowers.” Alois answered curtly and turned away from the window to face Luthor. The man did not give him the same courtesy. “You talked about home last time we met. This is yours, you want to keep it well guarded don’t you?” 

“Naturally. To quote a phrase, albeit a touch crude, ‘do not piss where you drink’. It is in my best interest to keep Metropolis in running order; I’ve practically built half this city. Not unlike Bruce has poured his own finances into Gotham.”

“Bruce?” 

“Wayne.” Luthor clarified tossing Alois a borderline mocking look. “Prince of Gotham, I’m sure you’ve heard of him as well.” 

“None of it complimentary.” Alois confirmed dryly, not daring to let even a single twitch give him away. Every lingering glance Luthor gave him felt like another interrogation, looking for signs of a concealed lie – Alois had plenty of those and Luthor seemed content to take his time prying each of them out of his words and expressions alone. “He’s hardly a popular man among the bottom dwellers. Your image only fairs slightly better.”

“I’m flattered.” He most certainly was not. “You understand this is my home so you must understand why I struck this deal with you. For safety.”

Alois frowned, looking uncertainly towards the sky again. Legends of the superhuman’s hearing and vision were known around the globe and Alois had the sudden paralyzing fear that they were being listened to. When he looked back to Lex, his anxieties written across his face, the man smirked. 

“You _do_ understand.” He repeated as if this proved everything.

In a way it almost did.

“Come, my office is a touch more private.” Alois didn’t argue as they set off again, didn’t ask how Lex hoped to conceal anything from the Man of Steel. The walk to Lex’s office was silent and Alois marveled at how high up Lex took them. To the very pinnacle of the building and when he opened the door to his office, Alois was swept away but just how expensive everything looked.

Oh, what Len wouldn’t give to be able to steal even one thing from this room. His survival instincts were too good to let him even attempt it of course.

“We can talk here.” Luthor said easily once the door slid shut with a distinctly mechanical sound. “Lead lining in the walls does tend to give one a sense of security.”

Trusting Lex’s own paranoia when it came to Superman, Alois relaxed. He also decided that was the closest he’d ever get to genuinely trusting Luthor.

“With your obvious distaste for super human entities I’m frankly a little surprised you even brought me here.” Alois immediately regretted those words, feeling they were too forward. Although Luthor only smiled in that crooked way of his and went to a side bar where he began to fix a drink. Alois knew he wouldn’t take anything Luthor offered.

“The lesser of two evils.” He answered with an uncaring shrug. “I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

Alois didn’t mind that Luthor saw him and others like himself as dangerous or disgusting – that was fine. Alois didn’t much fancy Luthor either.

“Tell me, Luthor. What comes next?” He asked, keeping a close eye on the drink that Luthor made up for himself.

“Next?” Turning to lean against the bar in a fashion that was far too comfortable for Alois’s liking, Lex smiled at him over his glass.

“Next you and I will get to work creating a poison uniquely for Superman from your venom. You’ll go to your court hearing and plead your case, openly accept Superman’s offer of repentance and then--”

“That was _not_ in our deal.”

Lex paused, seemingly surprised by Alois’s outburst. He looked closely at the ridged posture the boy had adopted, hands openly clenched by his sides and a scowl on his face. Evidently his civility performance only went so far before his true feelings leaked through.

Calmly Lex set the glass down, looking at Alois levelly like one might address an unruly child.

“I paid your bail, it’s required that you appear before a court and be given a sentence. You’re in the fortunate position of being offered an out by Superman. Do that and you’ll be in the clear.”

Alois didn’t seem to be having any of it and violently shook his head, becoming animated as he took an angry step forward.

“You expect me to stand in front of Superman, the man I’m actively helping you _murder_ , and what? Smile and lie to his face?” Luthor didn’t smile anymore as he watched the small display of anger.

“It’s necessary.” Cold, finale – Luthor didn’t even entertain the idea of somehow dancing around it. “Unless the toxin is finished before your sentencing – you _will_ stand there and smile.” 

Alois looked ready to argue the point further so Lex placed the final nail in the coffin. He knew what it was Alois was willing to kill for – it was easy to find his weak point.

“Otherwise you’ll never have a hope of killing the Flash.” There it was. Alois immediately began to settle down. His fists unclenching and hanging limp at his sides, expression breaking into something that was momentarily despairing before he schooled it back into something resembling frustration. 

He was not as well hidden as he seemed to believe. 

Just when Lex thought the matter was settled, Alois spoke again. His voice low and furious, but no longer argumentative.

“Fine. _Fine_ , we do it your way.” And didn’t Lex just love to hear that. “But I want something in return.”

Fighting the expression of irritation that threatened to crawl onto his face, Lex stared down at the young man. Alois met his gaze and impressively didn’t flinch even though Lex could practically feel the waves of fear radiating off his form.

“I owe the Rogues a courtesy. They’re currently in Iron Heights and I have given my word that should that happen, I would remedy the situation. Allow me that and I’ll say whatever words you put in my mouth at the sentencing.” 

The boy was content to be a puppet provided he only garnered a few simply luxuries. A dead speedster and freed set of low life criminals – Lex had given far more for less in the past.

Lex’s easy smile returned and his fingers picked up his drink again. “I think we can allow that much. Lets not waste any more time then.” 

Alois’s expression was a mixture of surprise and mild horror. He no doubt had thoughts on what exactly this deal would entail – Lex felt the young man might actually be disappointed when he did not pull out the restraints and iron table. Maybe not an iron table, but knives and needles might have been on the schedule. Nothing Alois couldn’t handle, he was sure.

No need, the boy was compliant and Luthor knew the best results would come from a more consensual partnership. Of course if things changes, Lex was prepared for that as well. Downing the last of his drink, Lex walked over to his desk, looking for the set of buttons that opened various hidden doors around his office. When he found the newest of his collection, Luthor looked leered at Alois and asked.

“I hear you heal quickly?” Alois’s face became alarmingly paler even as he nodded the affirmative and Lex’s smile widened.

Lex was still grinning when he pressed the button to open up the hidden door to what would be Alois’s new favourite room. Alois looked a little bit queasy when he saw the medical interior. 

“Good, shall we get started then?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Len, some Luthor and finally some Bruce.  
> Enjoy.
> 
> One day I will have a beta...one day.

Home sweet home. 

Len snorted, unable to overlook the bitter hilarity of it all. Back in the same old cell at Iron Heights. He could still see the small scuff on the wall where he’d gotten into a slight disagreement with one of his old roommates the last time he’d been cooped up here. 

He hadn’t wondered where that man had ended up until he saw that mark again. If he were to guess he’d say that he’d been transferred somewhere a little less unruly. Iron Heights played host to all of Central City’s superpowered nut jobs and criminals after all.

Now Len didn’t think of himself as particularly nutty but if he were being honest he was one of the better criminals out there. 

Which is why the fact that he was back in this crabby little cell felt like such a massive insult to his pride.

He could not even rest easy with the knowledge that one of his crew would come to bust him out any night now. Because his cellmates were made up of all his crew.

Oh – of course they hadn’t put them close together. The closest other rogue to himself was Mick and he was on the opposite end of his block. Lisa wasn’t even in the same building as he was – separated into the female ward. 

He didn’t know where Trick’s new cell was – they kept moving him around. The boy had a nasty habit of making enemies with his bunk buddies and hiding trinkets around his old cells. They had to put him in a new cell every single time he got brought in. 

Well that just meant he wouldn’t get the same nostalgia whenever he got thrown into a familiar little box of a room like Len did. Lucky him.

As for Wiz, Digger and Scudder – well Len could only assume they were back in their old rooms. He wondered if the place had time to patch them up from the last time Len had busted their sorry asses out. 

But now each and every one of his crew had ended up put up in this little hellhole. He thought about Piper for a moment but the kid had made it pretty damn clear where he currently stood – goody two shoes of the crew if ever there was one. There was a slim chance that he might break them out if he caught wind of their mishap but it was unlikely – from what Len had heard Piper was currently trying his hand at being a vigilante.

Funny, Len hadn’t seen Piper show up to try and stop them even once. For old times sake most likely. 

At the end of the day that left them very much stranded. Len didn’t lament this too much – it just meant that their escape would be a touch more difficult and take more time. He couldn’t just relax and let someone else come bail him out.

On the bright side, it also meant he didn’t have to do the bailing all on his own for once.

With a heavy sigh, Len hoisted himself upright on his bunk. The ankle cuff they’d slapped on him upon arrival was heavy and ridiculously uncomfortable – most of all it kept him unable to make so much as frosty air. Len didn’t particularly like his new found abilities. He’d been fairly fond of his cold gun – there’d been no need to make the cold an actual superpower.

But…well, when fighting the Flash even Len had to admit having powers of their own gave them quite the advantage. It didn’t mean he had to prefer it over his old methods. Mick seemed pretty damn pleased with his own newfound gifts.

“Yeah, but he cheated.” Len muttered under his breath, giving the cuff a nudge with his other foot. “Bringing big blue in like that, it’s against the rules, I’m positive.”

It was a little irritating that the Flash ended up calling in another superhero – but hell Len had his crew, Flash had his. Still bringing Superman in was a bit of overkill in Len’s mind. Green Arrow had shown up more than once to pester his crew and even Lantern seemed to frequent Central City as some sort of favour to the Flash – but Superman? That was a big fish Len didn’t normally have to factor in.

The plan had gone off the rails pretty quickly after that.

Actually it had been spiraling out of control well before that, when the kid decided he wasn’t going to be straight with Len.

“Trying to kill the Flash? What the hell is going through the kid’s head?” Len growled, feeling a surge of frustration towards White and his absurd attempt to actually _kill_ someone. 

They didn’t kill – everyone knew that. It was their only damn rule besides looking out for one another. It was the rule that had originally endeared them to White in the first place. 

And yet…here Len was. Stuck back in Iron Heights because White lied to him. Bold faced lying – well there was a first time for everything. Len should have been more weary of the kids insistence that they pull this heist, should have made more plans around the possibility that White had lost his god damn mind.

But he didn’t. Look where that got him. 

Still, Len couldn’t puzzle out what had gotten into White. The kid was an antsy little beast at best, but murder had never been on his radar. It didn’t make sense. Len knew that White dealt with the bat on occasion and almost seemed civil with him and their band of do gooders – so why the complete turn around?

Len did not like being in the dark and Alois was keeping something from him. That secrecy got them all screwed over in the end.

When they next met, there were going to be words. Loud, angry, potentially very physical, words. 

“Lenoard Snart.” Len didn’t jump at his name. Instead he lazily rolled his head over to the bars that separated him and the guard calling his name. He looked at the guard like one might look at a particularly unappealing bug, but there was a small spark of intrigue in him. 

This guard wasn’t following his schedule. Len had started mapping out the workings of the prison the moment he set foot in it. The shifts had changed and the guard’s positioning was slightly varied from the last time he was here. He’d been mapping it all out in his head for days now, looking for weaknesses to exploit.

Which was why he knew that this guard was currently very far from the usual routine. There was no reason for this man to be at his cell, speaking to him and so Len was listening intently. Giving his full attention to his very unappealing little bug. 

“Lenoard Snart?” The man said his name again, a little more uncertainly now. 

“You’re looking for confirmation?” Len drawled, a lazy smirk on his face even as excitement sparked in the back of his mind. No guard would be asking if it was him – who was this bug?

“Are you Lenoard Snart?” He asked, firmly now, as if annoyed by the mocking note from the prisoner. 

“Last I checked.”

“Approach the bars.” The man instructed, seemingly void of any emotion that did not benefit whatever it was he was doing.

Now Snart liked to think of himself as a practical man, pragmatic even. So of course he was weary of this man that stood in guard’s clothes and was giving him instructions that in no way fit the job description. For all he knew someone took such great offence to his existence that they’d found a way to quietly off him with he was in prison.

Len had made plenty of enemies – almost all of them rich or other known criminals. The line up of names that might take a shot at his life was extensive. 

There was a pause of silence and the not guard shifted anxiously, perhaps pressed for time.

“You are the rogues leader, aren’t you?” The man asked, voice hushed and a touch impatient. “You set the quid pro quo, the promise that you’d lend a hand if one of you got captured? If you are Captain Cold, you understand what that means for you right now.”

He did, but there was still a healthy distrust in Len’s thoughts. After all he’d gone through the list of viable participants in that pact already. They were all jailed up tight.

“And you’re not a rogue.” Len reasoned, voice quiet now as excitement boiled up in his gut at the prospect of an early release. “So on who’s behalf are you offering a bust?”

“Just doing as I’m told, sir.” The not guard answered flatly. So it was a secret? Len didn’t take that as a promising sign and the imposter guard realized this very quickly. With a sigh of irritation he tried again at convincing Len that he wouldn’t try to cut his throat the second he approached the bars.

“Monochrome White got released on bail five days ago.” Len started, sitting at attention as he searched the guard’s face for any hint of a lie. The brat was out?

Len highly doubted he was well liked by anyone enough to have his bail posted. That was unless his big brother had scrapped together the money for it and Len knew that money was not a strong vein running in their family.

But it was enough. Alois was strangely absent from Iron Heights and Len had briefly wondered why they hadn’t transferred him over yet. If the kid really did get his bail posted then that was explanation enough.

There was still doubt in Len as he rose from his seat, judging his chances at strangling the fake guard through the bars if he tried anything funny. Feeling that he had a fair chance, Len came to stand directly in front of the man on the otherside of his cell. It was a welcome relief he did not have a cellmate to complicate matters. 

Then, very slowly, as if to make sure that Len did not misinterpret his actions, the guard bent to one knee. He reached through the bars to where the heavy metal cuff was clamped around Len’s ankle. There was a dry comment begging to be made for the man’s intelligence if he simply tried to take it off.

If it were that easy Len would have done it a hundred times over by now.

But instead the nameless man pulled out a small, circular looking device and pressed it against the cuff. There was a series of beeps, small angry sounding computer sounds and Len could feel the device around his leg making its own rattling motions as things within it shifted restlessly. 

Neither spoke a word at the cuff and beeping device had a small battle of sorts. The cuff was making every attempt to keep doing its job but finally yielded and with the most anticlimactic little click, it dropped clean of Len’s leg.

For a moment Len said nothing, could hardly process what had just happened. But the intruder was in motion immediately, taking the cuff that Len had once worn as an item of imprisonment and stuffing it away into his shirt. 

“You do whatever you like after this.” He spoke quickly, as if rattling off a terms and conditions statement. “Our end of the bargain is fulfilled, the rest of your gang will be getting visits of their own. All the boss asks is that you don’t make too much of a mess with whatever you do next.”

The guard straightened up, adjusted his no doubt stolen uniform and gave Len a passing glance. “He says you don’t kill people, but still wanted us to ask you keep whatever you do next to the minimum.”

Len was only vaguely listening, more focused on the familiar icy sensation rushing back through his bones. It was a small comfort to feel it back at its fullest again, having the restraints put on his own body was far worse than any little box they could put him in.

The skin the cuff had once been covering was a sickly pale colour and Len could still see the little holes in his skin where the needles pieced his skin. Keeping his abilities subdued required some discomforts. Lenoard might just write a complaint to the humanities department one day. 

But for now, the walls that kept him trapped were suddenly looking extremely brittle. 

“You say the rest of my crew will be freed as well?” Len asked, not really wanting to bust out only to realize he’d have to come out and grab the rest of them another day.

“Five minutes. Would have been two if you were a bit more trusting.” The man grunted and Len scoffed – if he thought he was the most disagreeable of his crew the man’s associates were in for a rude shock.

Len knew the second that Mick was free because a portion of the prison exploded and there was a rush of heat through the corridors. The horror on the fake guards face said it all. Taking a much less extreme method of escape, Len simply froze the bars on his door and broke through them. 

“Believe it or not.” He said while casually brushing iced parts of metal off his shoulders. “That is low key for Heatwave.” With that Len took off for Mick’s flames, knowing the rest of them would follow it like a beacon. What better way to all gather in one place than to follow the fireworks?

Leaving the man behind, Len pocketed the strange experience away for later investigation. First came escape and then he could puzzle out exactly what lead to this. Not that he was complaining as he passed other confused inmates peering out of their cells at the chaos.

He had no interest in freeing them. They weren’t part of his group and not all of them were worth freeing. Not everyone followed the rules of honour like they did.

“Snart.” He all but beamed when Mick caught sight of him – the man’s arms still a blaze. “About damn time.”

“You just couldn’t keep a cool head could you?” Len quipped and was amused by Mick’s complete _lack_ of amusement at his usual cold related puns. 

It was a small miracle that Wiz and Sam showed up before Mick could set more fire to the place. Even more impressive was the lack of guards rushing to their location. Len knew that Iron Heights wasn’t this inept. That was when Len heard the commotion on the other side of the prison, it was so faint but he could just make out the sound of shouting and what he guessed were small explosions. 

Tiny little pops – a bit like firecrackers.

Which was why Len was hardly surprised when Trickster appeared next. His little oddities were surprisingly wonderful distractions that were, for the most part, harmless in the long run.

“Heya chumps!” Tricks dropped down from the ceiling, hanging from the floor above them with a goofy grin plastered to his face. “Having a party are we? Guards sure are.” Someone had returned his toys to him and Tricks had wasted no time setting up some fun for the guards. 

Len’s grin couldn’t possibly grow anymore when he thought of what a marvelous little crew he’d gathered together. Even their youngest and maybe silliest could have their moments of utter brilliance.

“Is that what you call it?” That was unmistakably Digger. The man rounded the corner and tossed what Len guessed was a mostly friendly boomerang at Trickster. The young man gave a yelp of alarm and dropped from the ceiling onto his head, narrowly missing the projectile but ultimately injuring himself in the process.

“Bloody fruitloop you are!” Digger cursed Tricks, marching over him to grab the kid by his shirt and give him a little shake. “Ya think you’re funny?” 

Then Len noticed that Digger seemed to have party streamers tangled in his hair and draped over his shoulders. Trickster was hardly above friendly fire and Digger often seemed to fall victim to his antics.

“Well...” Tricks drew the word out with a shameless grin on his face, making a shrugging motion. “I mean you’re exactly the best judge on comedy, Boomer.” 

“Why you little--!”

“Boy, boys.” Lisa cooed as she rose up from the cement floor, giving the pair a nasty fright at her sudden appearance, before becoming solid again in the destroyed cell they stood in. “You’re both gorgeous – can we leave the contests for when we’re home?” 

Sam who had in no way been about to separate Digger and Tricks seemed to visibly relax when Lisa showed up. While Len had been waiting for his sister just as attentively – seeing Sam’s puppy dog eyes made him quietly want to warn the man about ogling his sister. Lisa on the other hand seemed to think that Sam’s smile at her arrival was endearing beyond compare and the moment she was solid she was pulling the man into an embrace that Len would rather not see.

“Lisa’s right.” Mark announced, seemingly more than just a touch annoyed with the carefree approach the group was taking to their own break out. “Trickster’s toys are only going to distract them for so long. Lets go.”

“Everyone is here.” Len agreed, they’d only been waiting on Lisa and now that she was here and safe – it was time to leave.

With that agreed on, Len made a small gesture towards Mick. He’d not be the one to deny the man at least this one small joy of blasting holes in the prison. Mick loved his fire and destruction and while Len encouraged restraint when it came to Mick’s more unmanageable exploits – a little freedom to express himself once in a while was hardly unreasonable.

That didn’t stop Len from raising a small wall of ice around the rest of them when Mick essentially threw the heat up to ridiculous levels. Regardless the wall gave with an explosion and crumbling of bricks. They were out under the sun and quickly on their way back into the city before the guards had much of a chance to catch them. 

The small resistance they did meet was easily overcome with their powers reinstated. But even as Iron Heights was left behind – Len wondered how the game had been played to make it _this_ easy. He was not lamenting their hasty escape but he did like to solve problems himself and with reasonable challenge – this one had been handed to them.

He could riddle it out once they were all back at a safe house, to make sure no one was hurt and everyone got the shower or bath they wanted. Provided Lisa got the first bath of course, heaven forbid they keep their resident princess from her rest and relief time. 

“Who busted us?” Mick asked when he fell into step with Len. His voice low and as always a touch difficult to decipher. Len wouldn’t say that Mick was dumb – he’d happily ice anyone that suggested such a thing. However he also did not find Mick to be particularly invested with the inner workings behind how good things happened.

More he would just take the good thing without question. No question as to why it was he who broke out first. 

With that in mind Len thought about his answer, still unable to make heads or tails of how exactly the brat factored into this particular bust. Still, Mick was a man that liked to know who had his back and who he was in debt to – mostly so he could weed out those he owed from those he trusted.

“Sounds like the kid got out a bit earlier than us.” Len answered with a careless shrug. 

“He didn’t owe us squat.” Mick grunted, which honestly threw Len for a moment. “He ain’t a rogue, so why did he stick his neck out for us in the first place?” 

As always Len found himself being more invested in the how rather than why. Mick was a more emotional man and Len needed that on occasion to balance him. Of course his first reaction was not _how_ the nag managed to pull it off and instead asked _why_ he bothered at all. 

“Who knows.” Len brushed it off easily. “We’re out, that’s what’s important.” They could both agree on that. 

“Well, you’ll figure it out.” Mick said as he brushed past Len with a sort of finality and disregard that Len could never properly mimic. “You always do.” 

Mick knew Len better than anyone else – with the exception of his own sister naturally – which was why it did not surprise Len so much as frustrate him that Mick knew his lies inside and out. The hot headed man knew that it would bother Len, not knowing, not being even. So even as he verbally brushed it off with a shrug – Mick only rolled his eyes and breezed right past Len’s cold shoulder act.

He hated Mick as much as he loved him for it.

Because it did bother Len. It bothered him immensely to be unable to explain something or plan for it. To not know exactly what to expect of the people he worked with was dangerous after all.

So as he and his crew vanished back into Central City to lie low for a while and give the police another blow to their inflated ego – Len wondered. He ran over everything he knew, looked for a lie or explanation that would shed light on how this happened and found none. 

And as much as they infuriated him, grating on his nerves like mad, at some point it began to concern him as well. An argument could made that he was worried about how the unconnected, penniless, naïve kid could manage to pull off a bust like this on his own. Worried about exactly what the kid had to get himself into to even begin to think of something like this. 

That argument could be made and Len would easily refute it. His concern was only for himself, his crew and the future heists they’d pull. Nothing beyond that mattered.

 

…

…

…

 

 

“I just need a moment!” Alois snarled, he would have shouted if his voice were strong enough.

Itchy, tight, pinching – a number of different uncomfortable sensations bombarded his body. Jerking him every which way, it wasn’t a knife that bothered him; it was the tug of a needle jostling just under his flesh. There was no restrains to bruise his wrists but the cords trailing from his body kept movement limited and stiff.

It wasn’t agony that got Alois agitated to the point of near screaming – it was the simple overwhelming discomfort of it all.

How long had they been at this? How many days had he spent in this windowless room being poked and prodded relentlessly? Alois had to remind himself that it could be worse and by all means should be worse. 

Lex for all his cruelties and faults had not put him under any unnecessary strains. His hands remained free and if they absolutely had to be tied down, he was told long in advance. If he was uncomfortable or began to go into some sort of panic attack, the restraints were taken away and the scientist assigned to him would reassure him that he could move. He wasn’t being restrained against his will – he only needed to remain calm. 

After having had snapped at the doctor, a middle aged woman who seemed to have endless patience with Alois’s frequent outbursts, he was given the moment he demanded.

Luthor was rarely present for these procedures, and Alois found the man blissfully absent today as well. Sitting up, wires following him as he moved, Alois greedily sucked down a few deep gulps of air. Today was one of his least favourite procedures. The needles they jammed into his veins were designed to apparently keep his fluids up while another actively took blood out of his system. 

They had little luck finding what they needed in his blood, so the scientist and doctor that kept him company in the little sterile room had turned to other parts of his body to find the answer. Apparently they’d found some promising results at first but had hit a brick wall with his blood and with every passing hour they became more desperate to find a solution in another part of his body.

He pitied them at times; they were looking for magic through science. Luthor insisted that magic was frequently just science they did not yet understand – Alois wasn’t so sure. 

They took so many different fluids from his body in the hopes they could find the source of his venom, where it was produced in his body. So far they hadn’t found it in his saliva, stomach, veins or even his bone marrow. Alois still cringed remembering how sore he’d been after waking up from that little endeavour.

He knew it was silly but every time they took something from him he felt a little less like himself. Blood and tissue would replenish and heal – he had no need to feel like he’d lost something but still the nagging feeling hounded him relentlessly.

Alois should be pleased that they did put him to sleep when they cut him apart – a childish part of Alois had feared they’d keep him conscious during. Perhaps having spent so much time hearing about unorthodox experiments in the Gotham underground had tainted his perception of medical procedures in general.

After all, he had always avoided hospitals for an irrational fear of being torn apart.

“Are you alright, Mr. Harlow?” The doctor asked, the more vocal of his two attendants. She wasn’t exactly kind but then it seemed that no one in Luthor’s employ was. But she frequently asked about his mental condition and brought him the most foods – they were to keep his blood level constant but Alois still noted it as a small act of compassion.

“Yes, yes…I just need a second.” He said less sharply and sighed as he dragged fingers through his messy hair.

He wasn’t angry exactly, just frustrated. They weren’t getting anywhere and Alois knew that if he were getting irritated Luthor would be nearing that point himself. It he reached it, Alois worried what would come next.

Tiredly Alois looked down to his wrist where the needle slid under his flesh. It was difficult to deal with sometimes as his skin had a nasty habit of trying to heal over and trap the needle inside his flesh. It was unpleasant the first time they realized the problem and had to cut it free.

“What are we doing wrong?” The scientist muttered more to himself than anyone else and Alois echoed that sentiment in his own head.

He did not understand half the things the doctor and scientist did to him or said to one another. He wasn’t well versed in medical practices or how venom even worked. They’d gone into his body looking for some sort of sac and had been frustrated when they didn’t find it. 

Alois didn’t know what his insides looked like but apparently they were disappointingly human appearing. That didn’t surprise him, their mother had fashioned them to resemble humans after all. 

Luthor must have been surprised by it one some level because the next time he came to visit for an update he’d made comment on Alois being so shockingly human internally. Alois wondered if that was an affront to Lex or if it somehow made Alois appear less disgusting to him. He didn’t dare ask. 

They were talking around him again, having realized rather early on that Alois hadn’t the foggiest what any of this meant, the pair didn’t try to explain anything to him.

He did try not to let that eat at his pride, it wasn’t as though he’d ever been sent to school, Alois learnt everything from what he heard or managed to scrap together to read. Reading had always been something Alois excelled at, even when Noire struggled with his basic alphabet in early days. Then again, Noire had excelled at numbers – Alois wouldn’t look at the damn things if he could help it.

Alois might have stolen a particular speaking voice from the books he poured over, even if a good number of the words meanings were truly lost on him. Thinking back on it now, it was rather humiliating. The first time he’d spoken to Captain Cold he’s said ‘egregious’ without the faintest idea what it meant – Len had laughed so hard that Alois swore he’d shed a few tears at the time.

He’d since learnt to try and keep his verbal showing off to a minimum. It was not always a successful endeavour.

However Alois found it vaguely amusing that they thought he wouldn’t learn. It only took a few hours to pick up focus points and key words they dropped frequently. Two days in and the context alone gave them certain meanings and implications. Alois quickly learnt what he liked to hear and what meant they were getting nowhere.

Today was not their best day.

“The venom isn’t being produced in any of his organs. Where is it coming from?” The scientist demanded of the doctor, as if she’d simply been holding onto the answer they were painstakingly seeking.

“Perhaps if we came at this from a different angle.” She tried to reason, looking over a clipboard that they both seemed inexplicably fond of.

“We’ve run out of angles!” The man barked back in and Alois saw the twitch of irritation on the woman’s face. She didn’t appreciate his attitude or his outbursts. He must have realized he was going the right way for a slap because the scientist quickly reined himself back in with a heavy sigh. “Sorry, sorry…Luthor is getting antsy. I’m just a bit on edge.”

Well that answered Alois’s concerns on Luthor’s remaining level of patience. A brief silence fell over the small space as all three of them felt the weight of potential failure resting on their shoulders, and the dangers that brought with it.

Then slowly the doctor turned to look back at Alois. His pale half naked body must have looked miserable; Alois cringed inwardly wishing he could present himself better than he currently was. Stupid and vain of him – he knew – but image was important to him. 

She looked like she was seriously considering asking for his opinion on the matter – which would certainly be a first.

It had been an unspoken rule that while Alois was to be kept as comfortable as possible – there was to be no direct inference on his part. Alois didn’t weigh in on their discussions, didn’t suggest ideas or solutions. He was the object to be studied, not someone in a position to offer analyses of his own. 

This had been something Luthor apparently insisted would benefit them all. No one was under any illusions as to how little Alois could actually contribute. Alois was relieved he was not in the room when Lex explained to the pair what he was and exactly how tightly sealed their lips would be on the matter. In return they never gave their names to him and Alois never asked.

Some things about him still managed to surprise the pair. His age for example was a frequent matter of distress for the scientist. While he was by no means the kindest of the pair, Alois had learnt that he had a child of his own. A fairly young boy if his reaction to knowing how few years Alois had on this planet, was anything to go off.

That had been an uncomfortable day, what few morals Lex Corp employees had apparently included the ill treatment of children. But he did not look like a child – that was enough to keep the scientist from getting cold feet.

How old _did_ he look? Alois wasn’t sure, looking down as his flat, needle-ridden chest, he thought some aspects of his appearance were still youthful. He was shorter than both the doctor and scientist and Luthor positively towered over him. His muscles weren’t defined at all but Alois thought that might be just how his body would always be.

He’d considered going to the gym but the mere thought of being around other sweaty, red faced individuals made his stomach churn. Disappointing build aside – Alois concluded he looked like a young adult, maybe just coming out of his teen years.

Certainly not old enough to drink yet and yet just old enough to consent to whatever this was.

If there was ever such an age to begin with.

“Mr. Harlow.” He nearly jumped, eyes snapping up from his pale skin to look at the female. Her expression was no longer contemplative – she had resolve in her decision now. 

“If you would assist us?” Alois was staring at her, not unlike the bewildered stare that her college was shooting her way. Maybe this was a direct violation of Lex’s instructions, maybe it was side stepping – either way it was a touch unsettling to see her actually do it.

Vaguely Alois wondered if Mercy would so calmly and decisively dodge Luthor’s whims. Perhaps that was too a trait that could be valued in a roundabout kind of way.

“Yo-you can’t…!” The scientist began to protest but Alois’s patience had run thin just as fast as the doctor’s had.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked flatly and for a moment there was a gleam of a smile in the woman’s eyes. Quickly covered by the shine of her glasses as she pushed them up the bridge of her nose and glared down at her notes.

“I’m sure you’ve gathered by now how we’ve been looking for a gland in your body that produces a venom or some sort of abnormality in your blood that might act as a poison to other organic matter.” Alois did understand that much, he also knew that the woman was dumbing it down to the simplest terms for him to follow.

He had to begrudgingly thank her for that.

“However we’ve found no such abnormalities. Your physical structure almost matches that of a human, it’s a lot like a replica in fact.” 

“A replica?” She did not bother to spare any feelings he might have had on the matter.

“A farce of a human body. There are pieces inside of your body that simply serve no purpose. Your heart pumps blood around your body and your brain sends messages to your limbs like a normal human’s would. However your bones have not developed the way a human’s would. A human baby begins life with more bones than an adult and overtime they merge together, leaving an adult human with less individual bones than an infant. You roughly have the same number of as an infant does, about three hundred. As well as an excessive amount of cartilage, they’re smaller than human bones as well – it may have been a design feature to give you more movement and flexibility. Although they’re not terribly durable.”

She was passionate, Alois realized. He was gawking at her as the dcotor began to overflow with thoughts and observations she’d made while opening him up and looking inside. She might not have been the scientist of this crew but she was certainly thrilled about some part of this. Maybe it was the unknown, or the technicals behind it that inspired her – Alois couldn't say. 

But when she spoke, it was with the same abundant joy and excitement that he’d watched cross the face of a florist he knew. It softened him and despite all the discomforts this little room offered, Alois became endeared towards this impassioned woman. 

“Additionally, your stomach is _tiny_ , your digestive system is all but nonexistent. As if it were only there because humans have one and your body is based off a human’s figure. What’s most troubling is your endocrine syste—essentially it is the part of you that creates hormones, the things that regulate various bodily functions. Yours works in overdrive in some areas but underachieves in others. To be frank if you were a human you would not currently be alive. You don’t even expel carbon dioxide for heaven’s sake.”

Alois was almost amused when she caught herself here and there to dumb down the things she was saying for him. That wasn’t to say that he completely understood what she was saying anyway. What Alois took away from this was that he was – no shocker here – not a human.

“It’s your immune system that is the strangest. It seems like you’d be insusceptible to a number of human infections, diseases and viruses are a bit of a--”

“Marie!” The scientist suddenly exclaimed, throwing the doctor – Marie – off her game. If the man realized he’d just given away his coworkers name or not he didn’t seem to mind. Too caught up in his own frustration. “What are you trying to accomplish by telling it all of this?”

Now that Alois did take offense to. He might not be human but he was most definitely a _he_. Well…at least he was fairly sure he was. His mother always said that he and Noire were brothers – as in male. His physical features seemed male as well and Alois certainly felt like he was male. So he wasn’t an _it_ , was he?

Deciding it was not the scientist’s place to start deciding what he was, Alois fixed a scathing glare on his face and it must have been something fierce because the man took an uncertain step back.

“We’ve been getting nowhere by not talking with our patient, _scientist_.” He realized his earlier mistake when she stressed his title. The man went red in the face and rather inelegantly Alois snorted. “Over analyzing the situation has not helped us in the slightest thus far. So now we try this the simple minded way.” 

Turning back to Alois, Marie smiled faintly almost like she was attempting to comfort Alois. Like he was a child. A small part of Alois bristled at the treatment but a louder part of him melted under that gentle expression. He hadn’t seen soft eyes like that since he arrived – he was smitten with the simple kindness of it.

“Mr. Harlow – do you know how you produce venom?” He shook his head, negative. It was like breathing or moving his fingers – Alois did not think about it. The action was instinctual. “That’s fine.” She encouraged, banishing away and shame he might have felt. “Can you produce it for us now?”

“You’re asking a snake to bite you.” The scientist objected.

“I’m not a snake.” Alois argued, somehow this man’s constant efforts to refer to his existence by the incorrect words was more agitating than the cords hooked up to his chest. Although, admittedly Alois did not have the best retort. “I’m a scorpion.” 

“And we’re the frog.” He bit back with more venom than Alois thought he was even capable of producing.

“The frog…?” Alois began slowly, unsure of what the scientist was blabbering about. Although if he really looked hard at the scientist, an argument could be made that he had a frog like face.

“And it’s in your nature to sting us.”

Abruptly there was a fourth voice and all three of them jumped. Luthor stood proud and tall in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back as he looked benevolently over the trio. The man did love his entrances.

When the three of them clearly had lost the ability or will to speak, Luthor let himself stride into the room. His eyes fell over the machines that kept beeping away while reporting Alois’s current condition. There was an unspoken scrutiny in those glances – he was not satisfied with something and it terrified Alois to not know what dissatisfied the man.

As Luthor reached out to run his fingertips along the edge of one of the cords linking Alois to the metal monsters in the room, the monochrome brother cringed. Luthor was still not even within arms length of him and yet that simple caress of something that had access to his body sent a shiver of unease down Alois’s spine.

“Take me across the river, I promise not to sting. We’d both surely die if I did – says the scorpion to the frog. The story goes that the scorpion will strike the frog regardless of what it said.” Luthor explained in an offhanded tone, lips curling up in a smirk before he laid eyes on the trio again. “Naturally, both drown in the end.”

Alois was scowling at Luthor, uncertain of when the expression had even properly formed on his face. “I’m not going to sting anyone.”

“So promises the scorpion.” Luthor mocked.

The pair were staring at one another, glare meeting grin, for quite some time before the scientist shifted nervously and made a sound low in the back of his throat. 

Luthor turned his attention to the man with a note of displeasure in his face. Quickly the scientist straightened and Alois thought to himself that if he could not be given this man’s name – he would call him Frog. It was he who insisted that they were after all. Marie and Frog – sounded like a bedtime story he’d have heard in the children’s home. 

“Sir.” Frog began uneasily, looking ready to assign blame. Marie was having none of it, as the more confident of the two she easily slid past Frog to stand directly in front of her boss, not wilting under his gaze. 

“Our progress rate has not changed since our last report.” She told him flatly, the bearer of bad news without a shred of fear. Were all the women Luthor hired this unyielding? “A new approach is necessary or we will be wasting our time here.” 

“I quite agree.”

Marie seemed prepared to argue her point to the bitter end, only for Luthor to pull the rug out from under her and leave them all a bit stumped. Apparently satisfied with their gaping at him, Luthor continued. 

“I had thought I would come up today to try a different approach – imagine my surprise when I find the pair of you beating me to it.” That did not sound like praise. Not when Luthor caught the pair in a irrefutably predatory gaze, just daring them to act outside of their given parameters a second time.

“Alois.” Then that stare was on him again and Alois tensed, the needles in his body jostling uncomfortable. “Would you be so kind?”

A beat of silence passed as Luthor’s command gradually settled in. He knew an order from a request. Then slowly, as if afraid too move too quickly, Alois dragged himself upright on the metal table. He was all too aware of eyes on him, scrutinizing him with equal amounts caution and fascination – at least that was the vibe he got from Marie and Frog.

As usual he did not know what to make of Luthor’s lingering gaze.

Curling his fingers into a loose fist, Alois felt the familiar surge of heat through his veins. It burnt at first, sharp and unpleasant after having not tapped into his constructs for so long. At first when the white substance came bubbling out from in between the gaps between his fingers, it took no solid form. Dripping messily onto the metal surface and Alois’s lap before landing onto the floor. 

Understandably Marie and Frog backed away from the substance they no doubt thought was poisonous. Maybe it was, Alois couldn’t say if all his constructs were venomous but he knew the one Luthor was looking for wasn’t this base creation. It took time, forcing the white muck to become solid, to begin taking shape. It always took a while to warm up – to remember that not all heat had to burn. It didn’t have to hurt; he just needed to be in control at all times. 

Not difficult really, but one could overthink it at times. Not unlike a human noticing their own breathing pattern and suddenly finding an automatic process to be distracting somehow.

With that in mind, Alois relaxed, tried to let the process flow more naturally as the goo gradually built up into the familiar towering form of a scorpion tail. A glance at the formation and Alois frowned. It was not leaking the same liquid it had when he struck Superman. After a brief moment of confusion – Alois remembered the other thing he needed when making use of his powers.

Motivation.

He thought of red, yellow and black. With every passing thought the construct solidified, took shape and then the first drop of poison landed on the ground.

“Thank you.” Luthor purred, stepping forward to inspect the monstrosity Alois had crafted. It looked exactly like the thing he’d watched strike Superman from behind that day in Central City. It was exactly what he wanted to see.

Alois was eyeing him like he was the one currently in possession of a poisonous weapon, as if he was the greatest threat in the room. How could Luthor do anything other than smile at the boy’s weariness of him? 

“Sir!” Luthor didn’t bother to keep his irritation a secret when suddenly his own scientist was objecting to his action. “It…it could be dangerous.” The man sputtered, trying to explain himself while taking a few cautionary steps away from his annoyed employer.

“Unlikely.” Luthor brushed off the man’s concerns without a care. If the man were not so efficient at his job Luthor would have cut him free long ago. But as it was he’d never failed to deliver pleasing results in the past.

“He’s right.” Alois spoke up and Luthor took note of the stiff way he spoke. The young man’s head was bowed, no longer facing his construct or Luthor. Perhaps he knew what came next and was dreading it?

“My poison doesn’t hurt humans.” Alois explained slowly, neither raising his voice nor changing his hollow tone. “Every part of me was designed – even my venom – and my mother loved you humans. She loved you more than any other species in the universe.”

Then Alois did lift his head, sporting a crooked smile that didn’t hold a shred of genuine warmth. “Loved to play favourites, my mother. Of course humans are immune to my poison.”

“Fortunate for us, Superman is in fact _not_ human.” Luthor chimed in dryly and Alois gave a single nod of confirmation. Not offering up any further reaction on the matter. A small relief – it seemed that whatever compassion he had for the alien was muted. At least no longer potent enough to drag out any sort of discomfort at the notion of killing him. 

“I-It was this easy?” Frog exclaimed. “All we need is a sample and then I can get to work--”

“It’ll vanish.” Alois told them flatly.

But of course Luthor knew this. All of Alois’s constructs faded or returned to his body once they were no longer in use. They could not simply bottle this.

“You’ll need to put away the general anesthesia for now, doctor.” Luthor announced calmly. “If he’s asleep the magic will cut off, we won’t be able to get any of it.”

What he had not known was just how quickly Alois would realize what this meant.

“Doctor Marie.” Luthor clasped his hands behind his back as he turned away from Alois and the metal table. “I’ll be needing you to stay late today, over pay included of course. You may have to open up Mr. Harlow’s chest and skull tonight – you don’t have plans I hope?” 

“N-No I don’t—but, Sir?” Marie paused behind Luthor, sounding equal parts confused and alarmed. 

“You’ll need to prepare regional anesthesia of course. I imagine even with that accelerated healing, pain will be an issue.” Some of her concern ebbed away, it seemed his rules on humanely proceeding were still in effect. 

Luthor continued to rattle off the things he wanted done – with no doubt they would be done exactly how he instructed. Alois was only just listening to the man. His focus was on his hands more than anything else, wondering if this was where he decided to run.

Lex was finished telling Frog about how he wanted to results that night and onto telling Marie what procedures he wanted done. As if thinking better of it, Luthor turned with a smile and made a vague hand gesture towards the woman. “Well I’m sure you know how to deal with these procedures far better than I.” 

The man cast one last glance back at Alois before he left the three to it. The boy looked about ready to pass out, Luthor very nearly pitied him and yet, he couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. 

If all went well he’d have the results he was looking for before the night was out.

Marie was left a touch shaken. Looking between the small list of things they’d already checked on her clipboard and the silent boy they had on their examination table.

Taking a deep breath she turned to Alois and approached cautiously. She knew he had violent reactions to even the simplest of restraints – she’d learnt early on that he was afraid of hospitals. He was currently a flight risk.

“This won’t be any different to our other procedures.” She said, catching Alois’s full attention with those simple words. “You’ll just have to stay awake for us, that’s all. It might feel strange, but don’t you worry – we’ll numb the areas we’re working on. It won’t hurt.”

He was just a child. Marie couldn’t deny that when he looked up at her with those huge terrified blue eyes. He carried himself like he was older and mature but he was still just some kid that didn’t have a place to belong. 

Now she couldn’t give him anything like a home – but she could give him this small piece of reassurance. To look at him like a human as opposed to a creature. That alone was the most she could give. 

“I know you’re not going to sting us.” Marie told Alois quietly, like she was sharing a secret with him and somehow that seemed like the perfect thing to tell Alois as he smiled a touch in her direction.

So Marie smiled back at him and Alois relaxed under the small act of kindness.

Then she opened up her operating kit and picked out the sharpest of her scalpels.

 

 

…

…

…

 

 

Almost a full week had passed and Bruce was reaching his boiling point.

After having had a few choice words with Superman, half of which were reprimands and the other half consisting of insistence on _not_ approaching Luthor. 

For all of Superman’s virtues, Luthor did tend to rattle him in a way no one else could. It took his sensibilities and threw them to the wind – leaving Batman to ground him before the man did something ridiculous. Heaven forbid Luthor’s campaign ever truly launch, Superman might just snap. 

Something that anyone else might be able to laugh about but left a bitter taste in Bruce’s mouth and a tenseness in his shoulders he simply could not shake.

However it had been much easier to restrict Superman’s heroics when it had only been one day. Almost a whole week later and Bruce’s patience was beginning to wane. 

He stood in front of his monitors again; back ridged and jaw clenched as he tried rationalization after rationalization to keep his own head in check.

Alois was gone. 

Entirely gone. Not a trace of him anywhere.

At first Bruce hadn’t been particularly perturbed by this. Thinking it to be one of the only smart things Alois had managed to do the past few weeks. However when he didn’t make an appearance in Central City at all over the next few days, Bruce did begin to take more acute notice.

He’d been lulled into a sense of security rarely allowed for himself when Luthor’s activities seemed to return to normal. He had been on the phone with Bruce not a day before for heaven’s sake – pushing forward a business proposition that Brucie considered while Batman vehemently refused.

Anything could be made doable with enough amendments of course – until then he wouldn’t sign a damn thing.

Luthor was accounted for by the public eye and Bruce’s own sources. Nothing at all out of the ordinary, but it seemed the media had caught wind of his prison visit and were starting to ask questions. Bruce had hoped to get answers from that, even if Luthor lied it would be something to go off. 

Nothing. Absolutely _nothing_. 

The man was poised and perfected in the art of people pleasing, no different to Bruce’s own public performance actually. But everything he said matched Bruce’s assumptions, making jabs at Superman for his rough treatment of a minor criminal and a child.

He could imagine how livid it would have made Alois to be thought of as some child victim – but it worked a charm for Luthor and his anti-superman sentiment. 

Meanwhile, still no sign of Alois. The little flat that Bruce had once found Alois residing it remained untouched since he was bailed out. There wasn’t any sign of him in Central City at all and even when asked – Superman could not find a trace of him in Metropolis. On the off chance Luthor had relocated him somehow. 

But nothing came up. Bruce only really began to dig after the third day had passed and when he failed to find even a cold trail – alarm bells did begin ringing. 

He’d spent so much time telling Clark not to overreact, not to confront Luthor on his odd choice of charity. But here he was, pouring over monitors, making phone calls and raising his blood pressure with every passing day. 

Where was that damn boy? How had he managed to lose an entire boy in the space of one night? 

It wouldn’t be long now before news made it back to Barry. Bruce had told Clark to keep quiet on the matter – the last thing they needed was for interest in this to grow – to oversaturate the situation. But eventually Barry would find out and it was likely that when that happened – Noire would hear about it by association. The small, angry kid would flip out no doubt and leave Bruce with an eternal headache. This needed to be solved yesterday.

Bruce’s fingers hesitated on the keys to his computer, twitching as a stray yet disarming thought crossed his mind.

Should he have been more attentive? Had he made a mistake somewhere along the line? Stayed too close, strayed too far? What was it that he kept doing wrong, how was it every time he tried to keep someone safe they always ended up--?

“Master Bruce?” The sound of Alfred’s voice jarred Bruce out of his momentary freeze and immediately his fingers were back against the keys, applying more pressure than was strictly necessary.

“What is it Alfred?” Bruce asked, not looking away from his ‘work’. He did wince a bit at the sharpness of his own tone – Alfred did not deserve to be addressed so shortly. 

“A call for you, sir.” There was that distinct note in Alfred’s voice that said as much, it was the best warning Bruce would get to mind his manners. “Master Kent.” 

Now there were two thoughts that shot through Bruce’s mind at the name. First being frustration, Clark had been pestering him for days now. The second was relief – a call instead of a personal visit. A minor improvement to his usual unannounced drop ins. Bruce almost missed the days he would chase Clark out of the city. Now days he was a touch more lenient – that could always change.

“Shall I tell him you’re otherwise occupied?” Alfred asked dryly, all the judgment in the world packed into a single false offer.

Bruce bit back down a sigh, knowing that Alfred’s patience with him was wearing out rapidly. He hadn’t been eating right or sleeping enough and Alfred would only tolerate so much before ordering him to be a reasonable functioning human being again. Bruce usually had no choice but to obey.

Knowing better than to push his luck on this small thing, Bruce held out his hand for the phone. He didn’t look at Alfred, not wanting to see that faint, pleased smile on his face. It was all Bruce could do not to crush the phone when he thought of the way Clark would sometimes give him that look as well.

As if he were somehow the child here.

“Kent.” Abrupt, short and not at all friendly – it ought to get the message of his current mood across to Clark pretty quickly.

“Oh! Bruce.” How could the man calling still manage to sound so surprised to actually hear his voice. Had he been expecting someone else?

“Is now a bad time?” Isn’t it always?

“Sorry, I know you’re probably busy.” Then why do you insist on calling? 

“But I just wanted to know if I could drop by?” There was a beat of silence as Clark waited nervously for Bruce’s answer and the later could feel Alfred’s gaze burning holes into the back of his head. 

Then gradually Bruce let out a slow, controlled sigh. Keep his temper in check, don’t snap at the well meaning fool. Bruce nearly agreed just to pacify Superman when he glanced up at the monitors again and remembered why he was in such a foul mood.

If he let Superman know just how bad his own temperament currently was – those warnings of steering clear of the situation would be thrown to the wind. Clark would be on Luthor’s doorstep in a heartbeat. 

“No.” The rejection sat icy in the air and Bruce pretended he couldn’t perfectly see Clark’s face crumbling in disappointment. “Now is a bad time.” He continued calmly, trying to at least make it so the refusal wasn’t personal. 

“Oh…” Clark didn’t even attempt to keep the disappointment from his voice and Bruce’s teen clenched tighter. Hurt feelings was a small price to pay for keeping Clark’s head on straight. “…maybe next time?” Clark ventured and Bruce waited a moment before relenting. 

“Next time.” It wasn’t a promise really and it sounded flimsy even to his own ears. “I have work to do.”

“Okay, sorry.” Clark mumbled and Bruce did his best not to crush the phone in his hand. “I’ll talk to you later?” 

“Goodbye, Kent.” Too harsh. He knew it even as the words were out of his mouth but it was too late now and Bruce had hit the end call button not a second later.

He might have been hard on a well-meaning farm boy but he was doing it to keep Clark out of trouble. He could justify that to himself.

Alfred might be a little harder to pacify.

“I take it this means you won’t be having company, sir.” Bruce had thought _his_ voice had been icy.

“It’s for his own good, Alfred.” No point beating around the bush. “He’s overemotional.” 

“A trait that seems increasingly popular among you caped crusaders.” Finally Bruce did face Alfred, the man who raised him was looking at him like he was very much still the boy he’d dealt with all these years. Like he hadn’t aged a day. 

“I’m calm.” Bruce replied flatly, but no matter how devoid of emotion his voice was – Alfred wasn’t having it.

“Clearly.”

Deciding arguing the point with Alfred was a losing battle; Bruce turned back to his computers and ignored the tired sigh from the Wayne butler.

“I assume this has to do with that young man?” Bruce deflated somewhat after that. Never in the habit of lying to Alfred he gave a stiff nod. Alfred took this as explanation enough and moved forward to begin clearing away some of the papers no longer in use. How he knew what Bruce needed close and put away was beyond him. 

There were moments where Alfred truly began to look his age. These moments were rare and almost always directly a result of Bruce exhausting the man or when the boys were involved. He’d raised too many young vigilantes it seemed.

Alfred must have felt some measure of frustration and concern – the same befuddled expression on his face as when one of the boys would do something particularly troubling. Alois was nothing if not troubling. 

Bruce sometimes wondered if Alfred disagreed with his choice to not bring either Harlow boy into his home. They’d protected and guided many robins already; it seemed natural that he would take the two orphaned boys. 

But that was just it, they had taken so many robins in and how had it turned out? Just thinking about it left Bruce feeling hollow in his gut. The memories of where he failed them, how their bodies felt heavy and dead in his arms in those mind numbing moments where he truly had failed them. Lost them. 

He couldn’t. Not again.

So he’d given Barry care and responsibility of one and kept a watchful eye over the other. To keep his promise and still be able to keep a distance.

Alfred must have understood. Because he never, _never_ refuted Bruce’s choice to keep the children at arms length. But there was always that gentle offer sometimes, an offer Alfred gave to Bruce to extend to Alois. A warm meal and a bed – at least for the night. Alfred put it forward every time. 

Bruce never passed it onto Alois.

Now here he sat, wondering if he would have to carry Alois’s limp body as he once had Jason’s for his choices. Had he failed again?

“Perhaps it would be prudent…” Alfred began slowly, in that way that made Bruce know he would not like the advice but would also be at a loss to refute it reasonably. “To have master Clark assist you.” 

The refusal and debate was on the tip of Bruce’s tongue but the moment his eyes met Alfred’s, they got stuck there was could move no further. With a reproachful stare, Alfred took another moment to let his words sink in before continuing.

“Master Bruce, for all the good you are, for all the maddeningly exasperating you are – you are not very good at accepting assistance. Even when you clearly need it. Wasn’t that the purpose of the Justice League – to have assistance?” 

“To protect people.” Bruce answered automatically.

“With the assistance of others.” Alfred calmly asserted. “For all the years I’ve known you, this has been the one thing you seem unable to grasp. You are hardly alone in your endeavors for justice. Superman has never been reserved with his help. Having a man of steel is not an asset to snub.”

“Alfred.” Bruce strained his oldest friend’s name, looking at him with as much exasperation as he could muster. “He’s not… Alfred he’s not _invincible_.” 

A lofted brow was all the answer he got for a moment. Perhaps Alfred thought he was being ludicrous to feel any measure of concern for Superman’s safety. After all if there were anyone of the planet that needed that concern it was certainly not Superman.

But what about Clark Kent? For all his powers, all his invulnerabilities – there was nothing that protected that mushy heart in his chest or that farm boy mind of his. Bruce had seen Superman fall before, he’d seen him succumb to green rocks and mind altering drugs. He’d pulled him free of illusions in the past and dragged his limp body from battles. 

Bruce saw things that the world just couldn’t even imagine seeing. He’d watched Superman fall more times than he was willing to recall. In more than simple combat, Clark had a gentle heart and Bruce knew it could be damaged easily. 

At worst it could bring Superman to his knees with grief – at worse it could harden him and erase his morality to the point where he ruled without compassion or restraint. Bruce had seen whole worlds bend a knee to the image of his best friend – all because humans could be so cruel and Clark was so innocent.

“He worries about you also.” Bruce tensed when Alfred’s gentle voice brought him out of his thoughts.

When he looked up at Alfred, the man smiled one of those knowing smiles of his. The ones that warmed his face and crinkled at his eyes.

“Friends do tend to do that. Care for one another.”

Were it anyone else Bruce would have diverted the implications. Shrugged them off coldly but it was Alfred and there was nothing that he could keep from the man. So he simply let his face crumble into a weak, disbelieving smile.

He might just be as soft as Clark’s unguarded heart it seemed.


	5. Chapter 5

The very moment that Alois reappeared, Batman was there.

He was waiting for the moment Alois shuffled into his crabby little apartment. Juggling his keys and what seemed to be a bundle of flowers. 

The moment he flicked on the light and the first flash lit up the small space – the boy saw him.

It was a flurry of motion, the flowers dropped from his arms and Alois was suddenly pressed back against the door he’d only moments ago kicked shut. The light flickered once, twice, three times more overhead before it finally settled and left Alois staring at the familiar shadow standing in his kitchen.

Batman didn’t speak at first. Simply observed as Alois crammed himself up tight against the door, he could all but hear the boy’s heart pounding through the thick silence. At his feet, the flowers lay strewn about, looking rather miserable now that they were not being carefully cradled in Alois’s arms.

But the boy hadn’t run. Unexpected. 

He looked like there was nothing he would have loved more than to rush straight back out the door and try his hand at outrunning Batman. So many had tried over the years. But he didn’t budge an inch and instead stood stock still, scowling in Batman’s direction. Not a word out of his mouth.

Waiting.  
  
Batman realized after a moment – Alois was waiting for him to speak. It was perhaps one of the smartest decisions Alois had ever knowingly made and that unnerved the Bat somewhat. 

Alois was on guard – being mindful of himself. That is what he took away from the boy’s tense posture and teetering on the urge to flee. He could see Alois’s fingers twitching at the door handle – as if he was still fighting down the urge to fling it back open.

“Monochrome White.” So he spoke first. Voice a low growl. “Where have you been?”

“I…” Alois gulped, voice shuddering and it took him a few seconds to gather the courage to speak aloud. “You’re not going to hit me?”

“Depends.” Batman answered flatly, taking a step forward and it was a small miracle that Alois did not scramble up the door or break through it as he pressed himself firmer against it. Looking to find space between them that didn’t exist. 

“Where have you been?” He asked again.

“Does it really matter?” Alois bit back, voice only slightly stronger than his first attempts. “I haven’t done anything else wrong – leave me to the courts, Batman.”

“Why did Luthor post your bail?” Batman pushed on, looking for a reaction in Alois more than an honest answer to his questioning.

“I’m afraid that despite my many wonderful gifts – telepathy isn’t among them.” Alois snarled bitterly with a hatred that seemed misplaced when directed at the man that had gotten him out of jail. “I didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, I’d be an idiot to not take the bail. Just…leave me alone.”

There was a moment of silence where Batman simply sized up Alois’s responses. They were inadequate.

After a week of being missing, a whole seven days – Alois didn’t offer any answers that satisfied him. An inexplicable sense of rage began to well up inside the dark knight, one he had to actively stomp on to remain level headed. A whole week and the best Alois had to say was ‘ _leave me alone’_? 

There was more Bruce in his rage than Batman – that was dangerous and so he refused to act on it.

“The Rogues escaped three days ago.” He tried instead with another step forward. “I suppose you have nothing to do with that either?”

“They…?” For a second the boy was seemingly at a loss for words, the information coming as a surprise to him.

Then Alois let out a wispy sigh of relief. One he quickly tried to wash away with a glare. As if to say he didn’t care either way what happened to the band of Central City criminals. The exact reaction he expected to receive from Alois should he not have known this.

If he were innocent.

These responses were all perfect. The picture of innocence and fear – it was all so perfect in fact, that Batman found himself refusing to accept them as real.

“Leave.” Alois snarled again. “I’m acting within lawful perimeters, you don’t have any reason to beat me senseless or interrogate me – just get out.”

The kid was talking but Batman was only just listening. Instead his gaze dropped from Alois’s face to his body. Something was amiss. Besides the vanishing act he’d preformed – something that he hadn’t managed since Bruce found him in the Gotham slums for the first time – there was a certain posture to the boy that wasn’t quite right. 

Alois usually wore shorts and sleeveless shirts – often-even singlet’s. Bruce knew this was because Alois ran a high temperature almost constantly and he was not immune to the discomforts that came with it. Alois tried to stay cool – and yet currently every inch of him was covered. Right up to a turtleneck and gloves – additionally, it was currently summer.

He was still talking when Bruce took a step forward – the talk immediately ceased.

Then Alois’s hands were trembling again. Not the twitch for the door but a genuine shake. Was he really that terrified that Batman would beat him to within an inch of his life? Right now, where he was not breaking any laws that he could see? Unlikely.

“I went to Metropolis.” Suddenly there was a confession and Bruce was looking at Alois’s face again.

The boy looked uneasy, gaze shifting between Batman and the window as if he was thinking about escaping through it instead, and then finally to the floor where the flowers still lay. 

“I wanted…” He paused, shoulders tensing as he lowered his head. It wasn’t guilt exactly, more like shame. “I wanted to buy flowers.” 

That ridiculous statement momentarily floored Bruce who ended up also turning his gaze on the fallen flowers.

“You went to Metropolis for that?”

“There are things that I hold dear to me, Batman.” Alois answered dryly. “I’d do anything for them – even going to Metropolis just to see them. So _yes_ , I went to Metropolis for that.” 

Another silence fell between them. Batman knew something was amiss with this situation but he couldn’t quite place his finger on what it was. Alois’s responses spoke innocence even his body language screamed fear – not unlike the way criminals would before coughing up the information he needed from them. But Alois had never squirmed in front of him like this before.

Not even when he’d appeared in his room during his hunt for Barry. He’d allowed Batman to rifle through his things and stalk through every inch of his house for some evidence of wrongdoing. But at the time he’d stepped back and lazily watched the dark knight go about his investigation – not a hint of fear in him.

 

Now he scarcely seemed able to keep himself up on his own two legs. Something was clearly wrong and Batman wanted to get to the bottom of it.

“Alois.” He said the boy’s real name instead of his chosen title and the reaction was telling. He flinched and then curled in slightly, as if he could hide himself from Batman.

Briefly Clark crossed his mind. The memory of how avid an advocator he was for a soft approach as opposed to a tough love one. He’d chided Clark for it many times, warning him that his soft heart would be his downfall. But looking at Alois now, closed off and crammed up against the door – Bruce did consider taking Clark’s approach. Just this once.

With a deep breath, he tried again. “Alois, I’m not here to hurt you.” The boy cringed, and Bruce was unsure if it was because he didn’t believe him or not. He pressed on. “You were missing for a week, after Lex Luthor posted your bail – you have to understand how disconcerting that is.”

“None of your business.” Alois mumbled, the words slurring under his breath. He was sulking it seemed. “Get away from me.”

“Alois…” Exasperated, Bruce reached for the boy only to have him startle violently. Bruce inwardly winced as he heard Alois’s head snap back against the door with a sharp thud. There was no more space to take but he’d still tried to get away from Bruce’s hand like it was a venomous snake. 

This fear was bizarrely out of place. Alois many not have ever liked him but he had always trusted him before.

“Don’t touch me!” Alois snapped, voice rising almost to a shout as his pitch bumped up a few octaves. “Just get out of here already.”

Bruce hesitated, taking a moment to really dissect Alois’s words.

He kept telling him to leave and the fear in the air was pliable. It dawned on Bruce that maybe he was afraid of something else. Perhaps he was being threatened and his demands for Bruce to leave were a thinly veiled attempt to warn him.

It seemed unlikely but it made far more sense than anything else he’d seen. So Bruce relented for a moment, gaze shifting around the room. Looking for anything he might have missed but everything seemed to be normal.

Eyes shifting back to the trembling boy in front of him, Bruce considered his options. He could not outright ask Alois what had him so spooked but leaving him seemed equally as dangerous. Immediately ideas began flashing through his mind, getting into contact with the watchtower seemed to be the best course of action. That way he would not need to leave Alois in order to have others take action.

He was just about to contact Clark and maybe have his x-ray vision take a quick sweep of the place when Alois suddenly moved. Bruce tensed in alarm as the boy’s thin fingers suddenly cupped his gloved hand. 

Alois’s head was bowed, colourless hair falling past his ears and forehead – shielding his expression from Bruce’s eyes. His shoulders were hunched up and he seemed to be shaking even worse now. However his grip on Bruce’s hand only tightened, like a child clinging to an adult for comfort.

“I’m sorry…”

The words were so quiet and came with such a wretched tone that for a few seconds Bruce was unable to much as breath. Alois looked tiny in that moment, he almost resembled his brother when he stood like this. There was no pride or stance to uphold, just a young lost child clutching onto Bruce’s hand. 

“I’m so sorry.” Alois whispered again, voice breaking on the second word. “For everything I do. I just…you have to understand why I did it. There was nothing else I could do; my brother is such an idiot. He can’t look after himself, I _had_ to.” 

Alois’s ramblings gradually made sense to Bruce. Was this a confession of guilt and regret for what he’d done in Central City? Bruce was perhaps one of the only people alive that might have some inkling as to why Alois had tried to kill Barry. He had his suspicions, memories of their discussion about a ‘yellow demon’ coming to mind. 

There was a small swell of weary understanding in Bruce. He couldn’t condone Alois’s actions that day, innocent people could have been hurt and he’d injured not one but two of Bruce’s colleagues. But it was not a malicious attack; it was just one stupid child doing what he thought he had to do.

Bruce began to speak, a hundred different words racing through his head. Most of which were scolding or angry – berating Alois’s terrible decision making skills. Others were softer, running in a closer vein to Clark’s gentle approach. Many of those were offers of help, the promise that he didn’t have to do everything alone.

All of those words were quickly squashed down and pushed to the back of his mind. He could leave such silly promises to Clark. 

However none of the words had the chance to fly because Alois was speaking again. His shoulders weren’t trembling anymore and the grip on Bruce’s hand had gone lax.

“Tell…tell that flying man of yours that, won’t you?” Alois continued, voice gradually becoming more controlled. “He deserves that much.” 

Then Alois let go of Bruce and stepped back. Turning his back on the bat, Alois began to collect the flowers up, careful of their petals as he did.

“You know where to find me.” Alois continued flatly. “So please leave.”

When Alois turned back to face where the Batman had once been he was met with empty space.  
  
How on earth did a human manage to seemingly vanish into thin air like that? Alois had honestly thought he was still there but there was no trace of the bat left in the room. Just Alois standing there alone with his flowers.

With a small sigh Alois turned to the open window – no doubt where Batman had come in through – and closed it tight. He then set the flowers he’d brought home into the usual vase he’d gotten for them. The old flowers had long since wilted and died. Nanna would have been mortified by his lack of care for them.

With a small private smile, Alois ran his fingers around the flower petals and thought about the Metropolis he liked. The one far away from the Lexcorp tower, the one that lingered on the outskirts of the city. With sunny skies and open parks for the children to play in – the one that had a little flower shop on a corner that Alois found himself visiting far too often. 

But the smile died fairly quickly when he remembered the side of Metropolis he’d been living in the past week.  
  
His arms were throbbing; even his rapid healing rate could do nothing for the memory of the needles and knives. His stomach felt empty and sore – the echo of Marie’s scalpel cutting through the soft exposed white of his belly still too fresh. The scratching sound it made as it dragged along a bone, across his skull.

Alois shuddered. 

Briefly Alois’s gaze slipped over to the window he’d locked tight. He knew it would do nothing to keep Batman out should he come back – but Alois wouldn’t be here if he did. He was only dropping by this house…because he’d been told that it was the best way to meet with the bat again.

His hands curled into tight fists as the instructions he’d already fulfilled ran through his brain. Part of him had been hoping Batman wouldn’t show up, but of course he was there in the dark waiting for him the moment he stepped through the door. 

Even when Alois wanted the bat to fail him – he still managed to exceed his every expectation.

Flicking out the little phone that he’d been gifted; Alois dialed the only number programed into it. He didn’t wait for more than two rings before it was answered and he cringed when the now familiar voice came through the other end.

“My, that was fast.” Lex remarked and Alois could hear the grin in his voice. “Waiting for you was he? Well, how did it go?”

Alois’s throat felt raw but he was positive that during all their experiments they had never actually torn that part of him open. It was an imagined discomfort, one he was accustomed to when having to speak to Lex.

“He…it worked.” Alois eventually answered, trying to keep his voice steady as his eyes slipped down to the hand he’d used to touch Batman with.

“He’s a carrier.”

There was a small silence over the phone and Alois didn’t have to be present to know a smirk was twisting its way onto Lex’s face. He knew the exact expression, a horrible mixture of triumph and delight. 

“Well done.” The praise felt like condemnation. “Return to Metropolis at once.”

The phone went dead from Luthor’s end and Alois was left holding it out in front of his face, listening to the dull beeping. His gaze paused on the flowers he’d brought home, it had been a whim to get them – knowing he wouldn’t be staying long. But they looked nice, like the only spot of life in his home.

A small splash of colour against an otherwise lifeless backdrop.

Somewhere in the city the rouges would be hiding. At one of their many safe houses, it would be foolish to go and see with his own two eyes if they were safe. Luthor had given his word and Batman had confirmed that the group had broken free. There was no need to risk them in any way.

They would not want to see his face right now as it was. There was every chance that Snart would ice him on sight.

Maybe going back to Metropolis wouldn’t be all that horrible. Even if he only stayed in that one little room Luthor kept him secured in – that was fine he could still remember this small piece of colour. The distance between himself and the side of Metropolis he liked was made smaller. 

“Home is relative.”

With one more glance at the now locked window, Alois left Central City.

  

…  
…  
…

 

Bruce was still mulling over the rather odd exchange he’d shared with Alois as he returned to the watchtower.

Even when Barry appeared at his side, hand clapping him on the shoulder with a wide grin on his face – Bruce was only just present enough to answer him.

“Flash.” Bruce muttered flatly, noticing the speedster jerk back when a small jolt of static passed between them – Bruce tried not to roll his eyes. Only Barry would jump at a static shock after having literally been struck by lightening. “What are you still doing here?” He continued and was comforted by Barry’s beaming smile.

He still worried about Barry from time to time – seeing his bright expressions back on display was a small reassurance. 

“Heading out now, Bats.” Barry told him simply. “Just waiting for the kid to get here.”

“You brought Noire to the tower?” Bruce asked, disapproval heavy in his tone.

“Hey! You’ve brought every Robin to date up here – no harm in me bringing mine up once in a while. Oh! We ought to have a bring your kid to work day.” Barry paused and Bruce thought it was to breath, only to be proven wrong when Barry corrected himself.

“Sidekick to work day? Random adopted child, future children, clone kids day?”

Bruce slapped his hand over Barry’s mouth just to stop him before more ridiculousness spilled out. 

Although who could really fault him – between the league they did seem to accumulate an alarming amount of extraordinary relatives.

Regardless of his constant stream of verbal thought – it was good to see Barry in such high spirits. Perhaps Clark was right when he told Bruce not to worry about them so much. Not that he actively worried _that_ much.

“What about you?” Barry asked when Bruce finally dropped his hand away. His words a touch slower now as he calmed down – that or he realized he was likely to get glared at if he kept talking that fast. “I hear you’ve been elusive this past week.” 

There was too much teasing and genuine concern in those words simultaneously and Bruce kept all of his grief internalized. No doubt Barry was referring to Clark. It was hardly as though Bruce had been avoiding his friend, simply biding his time and focusing on more important matters.

He hadn’t returned any of Clark’s calls yet. 

“Busy.” Bruce replied simply, beginning to continue down the hall – hoping Barry would take the hint. 

Of course not.

“Yeah, but Bats you’re always busy.” Barry pointed out as he fell into step with Bruce. “Like _always_.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Bruce was attempting to keep this conversation from happening but Barry seemed determined to have it.

“Well you know, normally you’re a bit better at the whole multitasking thing.” Barry supplied and Bruce wondered what exactly possessed Barry to bring Noire up here and why he thought it was okay to allow the child free wandering rights.

Where exactly what Noire if Barry wasn’t supervising him?

“Flash.” Bruce stopped abruptly, turning to face their resident speedster. For a man that traveled as fast as Barry he seemed to fail to take in his surroundings and awful lot and almost ran right into Bruce’s back when he stopped. “I’m sure you have better things to do with your time currently.”

Barry didn’t look particularly put off by Bruce’s harsh dismissal and his smile turned cheeky, Bruce barely caught the sigh this time. 

“Nah, Central has been quiet as the past few days.” That caught Bruce’s attention because surely Barry couldn’t really mean that with the Rogues recently escaped from Iron Heights.

A quick glance at Barry’s expression and Bruce realized that he really could mean that. He didn’t have a clue. 

“You haven’t heard?” Bruce tested, tone tentative. He almost wanted to be amused, would have been had he not been so concerned by Barry’s gross lack of awareness.

“Heard what?” Bruce couldn’t stop the sigh this time and he pinched the bridge of his nose, a small attempt to fight off an oncoming headache. 

For a moment he considered sending Barry home to look at the news, perhaps he’d simply been too busy up here to realize what had happened back on Earth. Then Bruce thought better of the situation, if Barry found out it would inevitably be relayed to Noire and that would of course lead to questions about his brother.

Bruce hesitated, looking at Barry cautiously. The speedster looked right back at him with a puzzled smile – waiting for Bruce to say whatever it was he clearly had on his mind. 

Originally he and Clark had kept things between themselves thinking it to be a fast fix and now that Alois had reappeared there seemed to be no reason to worry. Still Bruce felt the need to ask Barry to keep things as quiet as possible – the last thing they needed was Noire doing something reckless.

“The rogues broke out of Iron Heights this week.” Bruce told Barry bluntly and he watched the smile fall right off the speedsters face. A moment later it was replaced by a loud groan of disbelief and a frustration that was entirely too relaxed.

Bruce was almost envious. Whenever he heard someone had broken out of Arkham his reaction was far less easy going. Barry looked like he’d heard the rogues had taken a cookie from the jar.

“You have got to be kidding me. _Already_?” Barry lamented, dragging his hand over his face with a low sigh of irritation. It was testament to how horrible the set up was that Barry’s first through about escaped criminals was ‘already’.

Then slowly he straightened, and Bruce knew he’d put two and two together. “All of them?” He asked cautiously, looking at Bruce suspiciously.

There was really no point dancing around the fact.

“Alois Harlow was released on bail over a week ago.”

“Bail.” Barry dragged the word out in a flat disbelieving tone. “Super villains can get _bail_?” 

“Obviously you’re unaccustomed to having exceedingly rich villains.” Bruce commented flatly, although he knew Barry was only joking with that comment. “As of right now Alois is back in Central City – courtesy of Luthor’s sudden charitably, and the rogues are hiding somewhere.”

For a second Bruce paused, aware of Barry watching him intently. For all his antics, Barry was perhaps one of the trustworthiest people Bruce knew – so he didn’t bother keeping things from him any longer. 

“I’m telling you this because you would have found out the moment you went back home – I want you to keep Noire out of this.” Bruce instructed calmly. “I don't think I have to tell you why.”

Barry took this information and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Bruce waited for confirmation that he wouldn’t inform Noire willy-nilly about all of this. No doubt the boy would find out eventually but there was no need to hurry along the process when it seemed Alois was willing to lay low and keep his nose clean for a while. 

Noire’s emotional outbursts would be a more likely cause of complications than anything Alois could do.

“Luthor, huh?” Barry muttered, looking almost as distressed by the name as Clark had. Admittedly Barry and Luthor had a potentially deadly sort of connection.

No. This wasn’t any of those alternate universes. Bruce refused to think about the Justice Lords or what had gone down on that Earth. Here, in their home that had never, would never happen.

“Nothing seems to have come of it.” Bruce said calmly, giving Barry some type of reassurance. “Of course I’ll keep an eye on it.” 

“Yeah, you would.” Barry replied, looking up at Bruce with alarmingly tired eyes. It was an expression that momentarily threw Bruce. He hadn’t seen Barry look that exhausted in months. Not since the dollhouse.

“Flash, you’re off duty. Go home and rest.” Bruce advised, letting his tone soften just a touch when he saw how weary Barry was. “We’ll take care of everything here.” 

“Yeah sure.” Barry agreed, finally detaching himself from Bruce’s side. “I’ll just have to round up Noire. Don’t be mad I let him run free – I’m sure he didn’t break anything.”

Bruce was about to express his frustration with the fact Barry was so carefree with bringing the child up to the watchtower when the little devil in question appeared in the doorway. 

“I’m not a child, Barry.” Noire insisted as soon as he stepped into the hallway. He seemed to be saying that an awful lot lately. The boy glanced at Bruce and in an instant his back straightened out and he walked with a more purposeful stride. He even struck a different tune. “Sorry I took so long.”

Barry perked up when he saw Noire and Bruce could see the boy’s steely expression melt under Barry’s smile. There were some things that no one had any defense against and Barry’s happiness was just one of them.

“Um, Barry?” But even Noire seemed to think Barry’s smile was a little off. Bruce didn't think he was suspicious of course – just concerned. 

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo. Just league stuff. It’s _exhausting_ I need a lay down or something, you know what with me being so old and all.” Bruce felt a small twinge in his chest, watching Barry actively keep something from Noire. He was not a very good liar to begin with despite their line of work requiring lies to even the closest of loved ones. Bruce knew he’d have to do something to help make it up to Barry later. 

“Come on.” Barry was quick to smile again but Bruce felt he still looked rather tired. “I got us a whole tub of strawberry ice-cream this time, so you can have plenty.”

“You mean before you eat it all?” Noire asked, walking past Bruce without risking another glance up at him.

“Oh come on, it’s your favourite. I swear I’ll leave you some.” Barry encouraged, while turning for the exit. The speedster threw one more quick wave over his shoulder at Bruce before turning his attention onto the plans of ice-cream and B movies for the night. 

“I doubt it. Unless…Did you buy two tubs?” There wasn’t a single hint of teasing in the question Noire asked as he fell in stride with Barry, keeping a calmer pace than his rather animated caretaker. 

“Maybe.”  
  
Rolling his eyes Bruce left Noire and Barry to their afternoon. As he turned and walked deeper into the tower the bat couldn’t help but smile faintly to himself – those two seemed to be doing fine.

Leaving them to their plans of an uneventful stay in night, Bruce head for the control room. He would have to talk to Clark now, there was no avoiding it and with Alois back in his sight there was no reason to prolong the inevitable.

He wouldn’t apologise of course, but perhaps he could offer to take Clark out for apple pie. That ought to be enough to smooth things over. 

The doors to the control room slid open for him and Bruce immediately caught sight of Diana and Hal at the controls. He’d walked in at the end of a conversation it seemed, Hal was still wearing a grin after having relayed some sort of tall tale to their colleague. As usual Diana looked equally tolerant and wearied by Hal’s antics – it was a familiar sort of expression and Bruce found it to be one of the more comforting sights. 

“Yo, spooks.” Hal greeted when he caught sight of Batman. Bruce didn’t bother answering – not willing to encourage Hal’s nicknames. That was all well and good; Jordan was obviously not looking for a response. “Did you see the brat and Flash on the way out?”

“I did.” Bruce answered calmly as he approached the controls. It seemed that everything was simply in observation mode. He’d expected as much when met with Diana and Hal’s casual stances.

For a few minutes at least they were not in desperate demand. However Bruce could see Aquaman on one screen, cleaning up what seemed to be some sort of oil spill – he would be in a foul mood for days after that no doubt.

On another he caught Green Arrow and Canary just wrapping up with some sort of heist. There would be many others out on jobs around the globe – plenty of other league members that kept the world spinning as best they could. But for the most part the world was not in grave danger.

It was one of those good days where the biggest threat to humanity was still just humans.

Which meant Bruce would have to retreat to Gotham eventually. There were always people there willing to cause more trouble than it was worth.

“You did and not a single word of complaint?” Hal pressed on. The lantern was leaning casually back against one of the consoles and Bruce prickled with the need to tell him not to. 

“Flash was supervising.” Bruce countered, although in truth Barry hadn’t really been watching as closely as he should have been. “He’s in charge of Monochrome Black.”

“Ooh, bringing out the superhero names for the kid are we?” 

“Hal, that’s enough.” Diana chided. It was impressive how easily she could end a discussion without the need for a raised voice or growl – just a simple smooth command and Hal stopped pestering Bruce.

With the lantern blissfully silent for a few seconds, Diana turned to Bruce. She was eyeing his form as he looked up at the monitors. He didn’t need to ask what was on her mind of course.

“Back to business as usual I see?” For a second Bruce almost forgot himself and asked what Diana meant but caught himself at the last moment, remembering who he was speaking to. There was no point in denying that he had been on edge the past week. Diana could see right through that.

It would be an insult to the amazon to even attempt brushing her off or telling a white lie.

“Business as usual.” He confirmed. 

“Clark will be relieved.” Diana said simply, smiling faintly while Bruce kept his eyes firmly fixed on the screens. By their side Hal snorted a laugh.

Just like Barry the lantern had been in much higher spirits recently – Bruce was less thrilled about that.

Bruce heard the door slide open and tossed a quick glance over his shoulder to see Superman coming in. Clark noticed him immediately of course and there was no effort on his part to hide the relieved smile that came onto his face. 

It had only been a week but Clark seemed to think that was enough for concern. Bruce had been on Gotham lock down longer than that – although usually that had to do with the Joker kicking up a disaster as opposed to Bruce simply avoiding Clark. 

“Supes.” Hal greeted Superman much the same as he had Batman. Clark seemed less put off by the nicknames. “You just missed Flash and the kid on their way out.”

“I’ll catch up with them later.” Clark assured Hal, who seemed intent on having people focus on Barry. He’d been like that for a while now, overcompensation for the guilt he was still shaking off the past few months. No one was particularly bothered by it.

“I’ll leave you boys to it.” Diana said, waving a careless hand in their direction as she eased up out of her seat. “With the three of you here the world should be in safe enough hands.”

Diana clapped a hand on Bruce’s shoulder before walking towards the same set of doors Clark had just entered through. Bruce was too sensible to believe that small contact had been anything less than a command. Diana wouldn’t have the pair of them not talking to one another – there would be no sulking on her team.

Thinking it best not to tempt the princess’s wrath, Bruce turned away from the monitors. The action itself evidentially enough to have Hal place his hands over his heart in mock shock horror. Bruce pointedly ignored the implications of his dramatics and faced Superman. 

“Superman.” He addressed Clark as he always would, but paused and thought maybe he should strike a less standoffish tone. “Clark. Do you have a moment?” 

Diana paused at Clark’s side for a brief moment and tossed an approving smile back at Bruce. He pretended not to see it and refused to acknowledge the look as he approached Superman. Clark seemed to positively glow at the request, looking very much like he was greatly relieved by Bruce’s willingness to speak with him. He almost wished the boy scout would be a little more angry with him for having been ignored in the first place – but as always Clark was too gentle a person.

“Bruce.” Clark happily greeted him; his relief was practically pliable with how heavy it hung in the air. Bruce refused dwell on the little swell of guilt he felt at the sight. He could make it up to Superman with good news and a thinly veiled apology. 

“It looks like everything is going to turn out unproblematic.” Bruce began, for once allowing Clark to indulge in his need to touch him.

Normally he’d brush off Clark’s hand and remind him that most humans had a personal space bubble he should learn to acknowledge. But he was being particularly forgiving with the boy scout today and so he didn’t stop Clark as he lifted a friendly hand to rest it against Bruce’s shoulder. 

It was the briefest, most innocent contact – and Superman dropped to the floor in an instant.

A sudden thud and everything in the room froze. Diana stood only half out the doorway, turned partially back to look into the room – expression mirroring both Hal’s and Bruce’s alarmed faces.

The moment of stillness was broken when the man that had so suddenly dropped began to convulse violently. Writhing and twisting in small jerky motions on the ground, Superman’s allies were unable to do much more than watch as arguably the strongest man on planet earth began to seize up. 

This second of hesitation was broken first by Batman. 

A thousand different scenarios crossed the caped crusaders mind, a hundred different possible situations and causes of whatever was happening right in front of him. Every one of them bad. In the same instant there were orders flying out of his mouth, escaping into the air before he fully had the good sense to sift through them in his mind.

“Lock down the watchtower!” Batman ordered and Hal was already working on it. Back to the pair as Batman knelt by the convulsing alien’s side.

He wanted to reach out and steady the man but his hands stopped an inch short of the action. He was in the dark as to what had caused this, but there was every chance that whatever was happening could spread to others. Which was why he’d ordered the lock down – he’d done it before realising the danger this could possibly cause to his own person.  
  
They came first.  
  
A distant sentiment that had always lay across his mind, dictating his actions, but had not been formed into the simple three words until Clark said them to him late one evening on the third time they’d met. They, the Earth, their friends, the innocents – _they_.

But right now it was him. Just Clark that needed to come first.

Trying to push down the rush of thoughts that came with panic, Bruce looked up to see Hal’s back still facing him. The lantern was rapidly putting into effect every protocol that Bruce had ever bashed into his thick skull. He could rejoice in the knowledge that Hal had been paying attention when Superman was no longer twitching uncontrollably. 

Diana had joined Bruce and much like he had only moments earlier – reached for Clark.

“Don’t!” Bruce spat out, too harshly. “It could be dangerous.”

Despite the tone he’d adopted, Diana relented and didn’t so much as toss him a dirty look. Now was hardly the time to debate. Still on the floor of the watchtower, Superman was beginning to slow in his twitches, not that it particularly helped. The man was clearly no longer conscious, eyes rolling into the back of his head and Bruce feared he’d start foaming at the mouth.

Then as abruptly as it had started, Superman stilled. 

The final order had been made and Hal whipped around to face the pair looking over Superman’s motionless form. He had the most wretched expression on his face, a question begging to be asked.

“He’s still breathing.” Bruce answered before Hal could give voice to the fear. He didn’t want to hear the questions spoken out loud. “Get into contact with J’onn. Take a list of everyone still on the watchtower and set up an isolation chamber in the med bay.”

It was easier now as Bruce distanced himself from the emotion of the situation. It was just another job, he had to stay focused and not let his feelings get away from him. 

“What the hell happened?” Hal asked once his initial concern was addressed. The lantern’s voice rose almost to a shout, he was clearly not working with a level head. Batman had to be calm enough for all of them it seemed.

“We don’t know.” Batman bit back, trying to look for anything that may have harmed the superhuman without actually touching him. It was so sudden; there was no warning or obvious cause for what had happened. Batman had to figure it out and fast.

Just as a plan was formulating in his mind, Clark suddenly awoke. The following flood of relief was quickly overshadowed as Superman lashed out faster than Bruce’s eyes could follow and fastened his hands around the bat’s throat.

There were no words exchanged as the crushing force came down around his windpipe but Bruce could see it in the other man’s eyes. The faint red glow and a hardness that simply had no place on Superman or Clark Kent’s face.

It was familiar and that twisted Batman’s insides painfully. He recognized those eyes from his various encounters with the multiverse. For a brief few seconds he mistook this Superman for a lord or worse.

The moment was brief because Diana was right there and just like Superman had, she wasted no time on words. It was a thunderous smack when the princess’s fist connected with Superman’s face. It was loud enough that Bruce’s ears were left ringing, but it was also a saving grace – Superman crumpled.

His grip loosened in an instant and batman quickly checked his neck. Testing his voice and tasting for blood – Diana had been just in time. The bruising was going to be horrible but Superman had done no permanent harm. Sore but alive – he might not have been so fortunate a second later as those fingers gripped tighter. 

“Solitary confinement, the cells.” Diana said flatly, tone low and dangerous. If there truly was a danger to be found in touching Superman, they’d already bitten that bullet. Time to move him.

Nodding in silent agreement, Batman eased back to his feet. He opened his mouth to fight past an aching throat and tell Hal to carry Superman in a containment construct. The words never got out because by his side Diana slumped slightly. The sight gave Bruce reason for pause.

“Princess?” Hal approached, concern etched into his face but Bruce held out his arm a few centimeters away from Hal’s actual body. 

“I’m fine.” Diana said slowly but there was a pause where she rethought the words. Then amended her initial statement. “Dizzy.”

“Sick.” It wasn’t a question in Bruce’s tone. The wretched look Diana tossed him was confirmation enough. She was hardly stupid and seemed to have reached the same conclusion as he had.

Bruce’s mind quickly ran through what he knew and came to a few possible answers. They’d both touched Superman, he didn't feel in anyway unwell but Diana was already looking queasy. There was no convulsions on her part, just a dizziness and fatigue that had not existed only moments before.

But Bruce was unaffected. 

“Lantern power down.” Bruce instructed and he looked at the bat like he’d gone mad. “Now.” 

Begrudgingly Hal obliged, his lantern uniform receding back to his ring. Leaving Hal Jordan standing in place of Green Lantern. Flight jacket and all. 

“Don’t touch anyone.” Bruce continued firmly, watching as Diana began to heft Superman up onto her shoulder. If it really was a sickness she’d already been in contact with the man and she was currently the only one strong enough to easily transport him to solitary confinement.

“Just until we’re sure.” Batman added slowly and Hal seemed to be catching on as a grim expression crossed his face.

It could be a pointless action to take. As far as they knew it wasn’t something transmitted by touch, it might already be in the air. Whatever it was, it was not strictly limited to just Superman. Best to be cautious till they knew what they were dealing with. 

Diana didn’t need to be told what to do, Bruce thought it insulting to instruct her when she knew exactly what had to be done. Superman would be placed into the cell made just for him and then Diana would take herself to the medical bay, to a similar set up. J’onn would be with her shortly no doubt and Bruce was already creating a list of possible ailments. He knew he’d have to contact Alfred to discuss it all.

By his side the currently non-superpowered lantern watched with weary eyes. Bruce didn’t object or comment when he saw Hal slide his lantern ring off and drop it into his pocket.

“Lock down, huh?”

“Lock down.” Bruce confirmed.

“Just another day in paradise.” Despite himself Bruce found himself wholeheartedly agreeing with Hal’s tired tone. 

Just another day.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First we got some Alois and Lex being equally crappy. Then finally some Bats and Supes being equally depressing. 
> 
> Also meet Nanna

This was paradise. 

Alois couldn’t help but think that as he stood out in the sun under Metropolis’s vast blue sky. Even as the heat began to prickle at his exposed skin, grabbing at whatever opportunity it could to become a discomfort; Alois didn’t find himself particularly put off by it.

Instead of rushing for shade or shielding his eyes from the sun, Alois continued down the bustling streets of Metropolis. People were chatting and going about their lives and for a split second Alois was just the same. He was that nameless boy in the crowd, walking at his own pace with nothing more interesting about him than the beanie he had dragged over his head.

He was nothing and nobody – and Alois couldn’t have been happier with it.

Using that unimportance he was able to walk freely through the streets without any notice and eventually come to stand at the corner of a quiet street, looking up at the familiar sign of the flower shop – a nursery technically, he’d be scolded for getting the terminology wrong no doubt. For just a split second he wasn’t White. Wasn’t the idiot in a pact with the devil or the man that had only hours ago willingly infected someone whom had give him even the smallest benefit of the doubt. Not the boy that had just used trust to hurt the only other person in the world that he in turn had trusted.

He was just some stupid kid standing out-front of a shop – hoping that a girl might take notice of him when he went inside.

The world gave him one better and before he was even fully in the door he was greeted with an excited smile and frantic wave from a pretty girl. Yes, being nobody was a gift he had dearly wanted. For a moment it was like his story had changed from a tale of a pathetic criminal to a simple story of boy meets girl. At least one of those stories should have a happy ending for him. 

Personally he was hoping it would be this one.

“Uh. Hi, Nanna.” Alois managed a smile as he stepped into the store, ever conscious of his beanie. Keeping it down low over his ears, hiding the parts of him that were not human from the young girl’s gaze.

After all he was here as a nobody. So the horns and other oddities had to be hidden even though he felt no shame whatsoever for what he was. But he didn’t want Nanna to think of him as different, as not human – as anything other than Alois the boy she’d helped to figure out the bus system in Metropolis.

He didn’t want her to know him as Monochrome White. Who may or may not have already, at one point in time actually robbed her. He was never going to live that one down if Snart had anything to say about it and knowing the man he would have _plenty_ to say. 

Nanna hurried over to him, hands flying in every direction, so fast that he struggled to actually keep up. The smile plastered on her face was positively glowing and it drained away any sense of unease he’d felt when he first entered the store. 

“Slow down, slow down – I can’t understand you when you talk so fast.” Alois laughed, hands coming up to catch Nanna’s for a moment. He could feel them trembling and twitching from excitement of the things she had to say to him.

His heart swelled at that, he’d never met someone who wanted to tell him anything so bad. He hadn’t been looked at like that in a long time. Smiled at like he was the sun – although Nanna could have smiled like that to anyone. It was just the type of person she was.

Releasing her hands, Alois watched on amused, as Nanna purposefully slowed down her movements – to make sure Alois would understand. He was still rusty with this language, but he found it to be a comfort to him. It reminded him of the days he and Noire would speak without a single word passing between them.

‘Have you heard?’ Nanna asked him and Alois could see her bouncing just a bit. Her grin was infectious and Alois found himself fighting hard not to return it whole-heartedly.

“About?” Alois prompted and was surprised when Nanna caught his wrist and began to pull him deeper into the little store. They passed by her boss who only spared them a fleeting glance. Alois shied away from the older man’s gaze and pretended he didn't feel embarrassed when he rolled his eyes with an amused huff.

He should just be grateful that the man allowed Nanna to do all she wanted while in Alois’s company. He was well aware that they were being doted on and given plenty of liberties.

“Come on, Nanna.” Alois implored. “What’s got you so excited?” 

Finally Nanna stopped pulling him along but still she told him nothing. Instead the brunet vanished behind the counter and rummaged around some something. Alois waited patiently, trying not to wonder if Luthor would be questioning what he was doing. The last thing he wanted was for that human to take an interest in this little place. 

Then Nanna returned, popping out from behind the counter with a jump and beaming smile. In her hands she clutched a piece of paper and Alois could see that despite it being a printed flyer, there were some hastily scrawled words in Nanna’s hand next to it.

Without telling him what this was all about, Nanna thrust the paper out towards him – face open and expectant.

“I’m getting nervous.” Alois teased as he took the paper. Actually he was feeling a little uneasy, worried he might somehow let down Nanna and fail to keep her good mood afloat if his reaction was not the one she wanted.

Taking a moment to look at the piece of paper he’d been given, Alois frowned slightly. Confusion was the first thing he felt, not sure what to make of the pamphlet he’d been given. It must have been given to Nanna’s boss first because the letters she’d jotted down were pleas to be allowed to attend the event being advertised on the paper. 

“A…flower show?” Alois spoke slowly, daring a glance up at Nanna who nodded eagerly in response.

It made sense honestly; they were currently standing in the nursery Nanna worked at, surrounded by plants. But that was what initially threw Alois, he was still wrapping his head around how thoroughly Nanna was captivated by flowers – usually work made the passion weaker but that had never been the case with Nanna.

It was actually quite cliché but Alois dared not scoff in front of Nanna.

The only real issue was the location. The flower show was taking place far away from Metropolis – even further from Central City. He knew a plane would cover the distance and even that would take hours. It was very far away.

“Looks incredible.” Alois eventually said, looking wearily up at Nanna who was still abuzz with energy. He would never do anything to ruin that. “You’re going? It’ll be wonderful for you.”

He couldn’t tell Nanna that he felt sick to his stomach.

Couldn’t tell her that he didn’t want her to go all that way. It was obviously something that made her very happy, but Alois still felt a looming sense of loss. It wasn’t like she was going forever after all. It was silly to feel so out of sorts over something so minor. 

The bouncing had stopped and Alois looked up, startled when he found Nanna leaning in close to him – forgetting any sort of personal boundaries he usually kept up. Her expression was serious now, no longer a grin but a determined stare. 

“M-My apologies, did I do something?” Alois stuttered, cursing himself for being such a flustered mess in front of Nanna. He could feel a familiar heat creeping up his neck.

Nanna made a show of rolling her eyes and then she leant back with a huff, hands shifting in slow, exaggerated motions.

‘You haven’t read it all yet.’ She signed, fixing Alois with an expectant stare. ‘Don’t leave me waiting, Alois.’

“I…?” Alois paused when Nanna made a small motion to flip the page over. He obeyed and found her handwriting on the back as well. His breath got punched out of him when he read her request.

When he looked back up at her, at a loss for words, Nanna’s grin returned. Cheeky and animated as ever. 

‘So?’ She asked and Alois felt his shoulder shaking a bit. He couldn’t figure out if he was about to laugh or cry.

‘Alois?’ Nanna tried again when he didn’t answer. His silence gave way to some doubt in her expression. Alois was quick to try and erase that uncertainty.

“Yes. Yes, absolutely yes.” It was a laugh that came out of Alois’s mouth in the end. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

A flower show – well Alois had never seen one before but the best thing about Nanna’s invitation was the simple fact that it came from _her_. Nothing could have made him happier in the world.

All thoughts of Luthor and men in capes flew from Alois’s mind – they wouldn’t return for hours to come. Instead he spent his time in that little flower shop talking with a silly, carefree sort of girl.

He’d never been happier or more at home in his life. If Gotham wasn’t home and neither were Central City or Metropolis – then home was here. 

With this wordless girl.

 

…  
…

 

He would then regret the choice to spend so much time with Nanna. Later that evening when he was standing stock still under Luthor’s icy scrutiny. 

“Where have you been?” Alois winced, almost inclined to laugh at the familiar question – Batman had been rather adamant about it as well.

“I left Gotham and returned to Metropolis just as you ordered.” Was what he said instead. Alois knew better than to so much as a smile while Luthor’s eyes were boring tiny, razor sharp holes into his body with his gaze.

The steely silence from Luthor’s end of the conversation was telling. That little loophole wasn’t going to be enough to appease the man. Alois knew he was bending the instructions he’d been given. Yet Luthor had never told him to come back to the tower the second he arrived in Metropolis admittedly it had been implied – common sense might as well have been part of their contract.

He obviously didn’t find Alois’s little stunt to be cute or tolerable in any way, shape or form.

Wisely Alois didn’t open his mouth again to backtrack of adjust his original answer. He didn’t dare say anything about what he’d been doing in his hours out of the picture. He did not doubt Luthor’s ability to learn of his movements, if the man really searched he’d find out what Alois had done and where he’d gone. It would not be all that surprising if Luthor already knew and was simply doing this as some twisted power play.

Not that it was particularly important in the grand scheme of things – but Alois wanted to keep Nanna and her shop well out of this.

“And if I ordered you to tell me what you were doing?” Luthor probed, voice still hard with irritation.

He was also under no illusions about his position and their deal. They were not partners nor equals – Alois was not even close. “I’d tell you.” He answered dutifully.

“And if I don’t?"

“Then I won’t.”

Alois stood, head bowed with his hands clasped behind his back. Waiting for the final shoe to drop as Luthor stood in front of him, back facing the silent youth.

Then finally the man turned to look at his reluctant partner and grinned. “I’m willing to let this slide in light of your success in Gotham. You’ve done well.”

He could always punish disobedience later but for now the boy’s silent repentance and fear was enough to win Luthor over. He’d let it go, just this once. That small allowance given, Alois uncoiled from his ridged posture and even felt able to ask a question of his own. Knowing full well that even if he ordered something from Luthor he would not be given the same easy victory.

“You didn’t tell me the rogues were free.” Alois said slowly, voice filled with trepidation as he tested the waters. He was weighing his words carefully. “If I was to come into contact with them…If the virus were to spread, they’d--” 

“You worry yourself far too much, little Alois.” Luthor interjected smoothly, to quell Alois’s concerns before they could prove problematic. “Your toxin was created to pass between hosts through physical contact. With you out of Central City and with no direct contact to any one of those criminals – they are sure to be just fine.”

Despite his continued uncertainty, Alois thought it best to let the words die away. He could hold onto them quietly, but only in the back of his mind. There was no point arguing with Luthor – not when everything was proceeding so perfectly.

Still Alois wondered. Had Batman returned to the tower? Had he passed on their ‘ _gift’_? Would it reach the one he wanted most of all?

“I have to return to Central City.” Alois said evenly, surprisingly Luthor.

“Must you now?” Luthor spoke slowly, tone bordering on dangerous. “What on earth would possess you to return when you’re so concerned about your little cohorts.” Then he paused, realization dawning on him. “You’re going to see the Flash, aren’t you?”

There was a small beat of silence and Luthor’s smirk grew with every passing second. The terse silence was answer enough. 

“Not content to wait for the results? My, Alois, how childish of you.”

“I need to see.” Alois bit back harshly. “I _need_ to know this was worth it. That it was worth doing this to…”

It was a small hiccup but Luthor caught it. Of course he would. He’d had about enough of Alois’s fence sitting, his ludicrous sense of wrong doing towards the alien left Luthor feeling understandably put off.

The moment Luthor’s eyes landed on Alois, hard with an unspoken insult, the boy’s eyes suddenly found the carpet to be incredibly interesting.

Alois may not have been human, not even close to it, but he was a native. Unlike Superman who had merely been adopted into the foolish planet’s population. Whatever the boy thought he owed the false hero it was entirely within his own mind.

Luthor had pegged Alois as a coward when they first met so he was a little surprised when Alois’s eyes gradually turned back up towards him. The boy had a fire behind them that told Luthor that he was willing to fight for at least some ground. He’d simply been gathering his nerves to do so it seemed. 

“Your feelings about the flying man are not my own.” Alois told him coldly. “I place as much value on his life as I do anyone else’s, that does not mean I would see him dead any sooner than I would save him. I owe this world’s people nothing.” 

There was a pause, a hesitation and gathering of breath before Alois continued. “I do not need to share your sentiment towards the man or your desire to see him dead.”

Despite the growing animosity between them, Luthor felt no danger when he turned his back on Alois. He didn’t hear the boy so much as twitch. He wouldn’t be going anywhere until Luthor said he was allowed to. That level of control was expected, he would take no less but it still ignited a familiar pleasant satisfaction in his gut. To be in control was one of the truly wonderful things about being alive.

“True enough.” Luthor allowed, although the boy’s insolence continued to grate on his nerves. Ultimately it cost him nothing and would be nothing more than a colossal waste of time should he do anything about it.

Staring out over Metropolis, Luthor had to admit that while this small argument was annoying – it was hardly anything of consequence. With the boy’s sickness clinging to Batman’s body it wouldn’t be long before it reached Superman and then Luthor would be able to observe the effects as it tore the man apart. 

The thought added to that satisfied feeling and brought a smile back onto Luthor’s face. What he would have paid to see it, the exact moment the alien dropped. What he would have _done_ to see it. Simply criminal. However he’d settle for the after effects.

Behind him the boy had grown agitated, waiting for permission that had not yet been given. Luthor waited, curious to see how quickly the boy’s patience would wear thin and snap.

It took only a second longer than expected.

“Luthor.” Alois all but snarled, not bothering to keep a polite tone. “Do I have your leave or not?”

“You do.” The easy victory must have felt like a trap to Alois because the boy didn’t move an inch and Luthor could all but feel his gaze boring into his back. Waiting for the follow up. Well he wasn’t about to disappoint Alois. “Of course if you go back, you do so knowing the danger to your friends. You return to Central to stalk the Flash and you run the risk of infecting your brother also. They’re rather close, no?” 

What Luthor couldn’t see with his back to the boy, a power play that had it’s obvious downsides, was the smirk that crept onto Alois’s face. It was a smug grin, one that came about due to the boy’s only remaining power in this game. Perhaps also too the only thing Luthor valued more than money.

 _Secrets_. 

“I’ll take my chances.” Alois retorted coldly, taking Luthor off guard. 

He’d expected Alois to recoil at the notion of poisoning his brother but he was already heading for the door. Leaving Luthor still looking out over the city as the sun began retreating behind the skyscrapers. 

Luthor at least gave the boy a head start.

“Mercy, be a dear won’t you?” Luthor spoke into his earpiece without turning his gaze away from the city. “Make sure our little ace in the hole doesn’t get lost on his way to Central City. No detours.” Mercy didn’t say much, didn’t really need to beyond a simply yes sir. Luthor trusted her to get the job done, trusted her more than he did Alois certainly.

It was a familiar thought that crossed his mind as he watched the city grow dark. How would the great Metropolis react to the tragedy that would strike their hero? Luthor had an inkling as to what would happen. The mass mourning and hysteria. A few low level felons making a mad dash for an easy crime followed by some power struggles among the real power players. Fear and grief, a grand memorial process and questions as to what came next without the red cape.

Well he couldn’t have _that_ be Superman’s legacy.

No, no. Making a martyr of Superman was almost as terrible an idea as leaving him alive. The best way to deal with a superhero infestation was to destroy its image before taking a crack at the body. Luthor would watch carefully and should Alois be true to his word and his scientists competent – all would go well.

He had a perfect picture painted in his mind for what would be Superman’s legacy.

 

…  
…

 

It was bad. 

Extremely so.

Batman stood in the isolation bay. Of the ten containers they had, only two were properly equipped to hold Superman and it had proven to be a necessary addition to the tower tonight. Superman had come back around once or twice over the past three hours. Batman had observed him each time looking to see if there was any change in his behaviour.

He was clearly delirious. Coming out of his unconscious state the same way someone would awake from a nightmare. Confused, flailing and choking as if breathing was difficult. Understandable, he was running a high temperature and sweating profusely. His breathing was labored, each breath he dragged in looked like it was a razor down his throat before rattling around in his lungs. There were precious few that had seen the man of steel in such a sorry state. Even fewer that had seen similar scenarios with the alien multiple times. Batman was not thrilled to be counted among them. 

Batman knew he was staring at Superman again. Observing every little detail of his current condition. At first it was a simple matter of necessity. He had to study whatever this was and work back from there. But over the past few hours his study had become less analytical and more concerned. Sometimes he’d come back to himself only to realize he’d been doing nothing more than staring at Superman, not a single coherent thought crossing his mind.

Just watching the man’s breathing. Just reassuring himself that he still _was_.

Growling at himself Batman knocked himself out of it each time and returned to his work. Green Lantern had been particularly useful, surprisingly so without his power ring on. They’d dragged most of Batman’s equipment down to the containment rooms. Lantern hadn’t stuck around too long after the heavy lifting was done. That was fine by Batman, he knew that Hal would be back up at the med bay with Diana. 

Batman had of course protested at first, thinking it only logical that once Diana succumb to whatever had happened to Superman it would induce the same violence in her as it had him. Except it simply hadn’t. Diana came in and out of unconsciousness just like Superman had but not once did she snap at them. She was coherent enough to talk every now and then, list what was hurting and what she was feeling. Rage did not make the list outside of her justified anger at whatever had caused this. 

“It doesn’t make sense.” Batman muttered, almost unaware the words had been said aloud.

The effects of the virus that was attacking the pair were almost identical in many respects. They were both running fevers that would physically burn someone if they touched them, not that Batman would allow anymore contact than was strictly necessary. They were also both struggling to breath, sweating, barely lucid and suffering nightmares whilst unconscious.

But only Superman was experiencing any altered state of mind.

With only Superman and Wonder Woman to study Batman couldn’t identify what differed between them. It could be gender or even origin. Kal-El was a kryptonian and princess Diana was an amazon – the effects could vary because of that. Batman thought this was the most likely explanation, although he hadn’t ruled anything out. Diana also seemed to be experiencing less severe effects. She’d still be in no condition to go anywhere until they found a way to remedy the situation but she was still in less pain and remained considerably more coherent than Superman.

Additionally neither Hal nor himself had felt anything worth note over the past few hours. Hal insisted he felt completely fine and Batman couldn’t pinpoint any discomforts in his own body. For Batman this added credit to his theory that this virus did not effect humans, they’d both come into contact with Superman and Wonder Woman to no ill effect.

All the more reason for Hal to keep that blasted ring off his finger. He’d been getting antsy the more time he was kept away from it.

“Bats.” Speaking of antsy. “We can’t just stay on lock down forever!” 

Hal had returned which meant Diana was no doubt passed out again. Due to her lack of anger she was able to remain in the isolation med bay chamber. But Batman was still cautious; if she showed any changes in mental state she’d be brought down here with Superman. 

“Lantern--”

His tone gave away his intentions of brushing Hal off and the man was in no mood to have any of it. Not that he ever was. 

“We have a whole damn world to protect. Hell, I have _other_ worlds to protect and you want us locked in here and everyone else locked out?” Hal was animated now, arm flinging out in frustration as if he could somehow prove his point if he gestured hard enough. Batman paused, hands still holding one of his own reports on the situation. 

There was the initial surge of frustration, a need to reason with Hal the way one might a child but he didn’t immediately dive into his justifications. He knew that if he didn’t stop to actually hear Hal out he’d regret it later. Either in the form of a disgruntled lantern or by making a mistake because he didn’t stop to think maybe his teammate had a valid point. They’d previously had this conversation, the one about relying on one another and not rushing forward into the fire alone because of pride or some sorry sense of self-sacrifice. Batman was still working to improve on this front, to let people help. Of course he still refused to open up Gotham when things got particularly nasty. That was his business in his city and no one else was allowed to get involved. They were likely to get themselves killed with a dose of laughing gas. 

So instead of dismissal Batman turned to face the other man, giving him his full attention. “What do you propose we do?”

This time it was his tone that saved him. Hal knew he was being given the floor and if that stunned him he didn’t stop to dwell on it and surged on ahead immediately. 

“We call the others, get more hands in here.” 

“No. Too dangerous. We don’t know what this is and who it could affect.” There was an argument brewing in Hal’s eyes. Without his mask Batman could watch him work through the same motions had just seconds ago, passed through his own mind. The realization that a fight was pointless – debate on the other hand had merit. 

“We can’t do much with just the two of us.” Hal shot back, only slightly calmer than before. “If your ‘humans are safe’ theory holds water we could get Arrow and Canary up here to help. There are more humans on this team than just you.”

That was true and Batman took a moment to think it over. It was still a risk but Hal did make a good point. With just the pair of them, especially with Hal’s ring out of commission, it would be hard to get anything done. 

“Whatever happened to them hasn’t effected us and its either because we’re human or because we didn’t come into contact with whatever spread the virus.” Hal continued, his words less sharp now that he knew Batman was truly listening. “I mean if it’s just nonhumans that it attacks then we can bring up some others, sure that puts Flash and the others off the table but--”

“Flash.” Suddenly it hit Batman. The realization that they might have already let things slip out of their hands hit him so hard that Hal might as well have slapped him.

“Wow, Spooky what are you…?” Hal asked when Batman whipped around and marched past him for the doors. “Flash and Monochrome Black were here earlier.” He explained and thank god, Hal wasn’t as thick as people liked to think because he quickly caught up and stopped Batman. 

“Got it. I understand so you stay here.” Hal ordered, slapping a hand on Batman’s chest plate to stop him from leaving. “I’ll go down to the planet and check on them. You stay here and mind the two big kids.”

Bruce tried to remember everything that had passed between himself and Flash earlier that day. He remembered Superman saying he’d missed the pair when Hal asked but that didn’t rule out Diana.

“I don’t think Flash or the kid touched her.” Hal filled in helpfully, already pulling his jacket back on, preparing to go. “If they’re infected we need to get them back up to the station. If they aren’t it might help us rule out some variables.”

Batman quickly did the math. If they had come into direct contact with an infected person and weren’t suffering any effects it would rule out his theories on all metahumans being susceptible to the illness. However there was every chance it could only complicate things further. After all Flash had seemed fine when Batman saw him on his way out and the illness seemed to be fast working.

Although it took longer to take effect in Diana, and Flash had said…

“He was tired.” Batman muttered under his breath, recalling Flash’s pale complexion. He’d chalked it up to too many hours working on the station, even put it down to the strain of monitoring Black all this time.

He hadn’t thought…

“Batman.” Hal’s voice was firm next to him, helping to anchor him. “I’ll check on them. Don’t worry, I’ll be back with them before you know it.” 

For all Hal’s bravo and hotheadedness, he was still one of the most trustworthy people on the planet. It helped considerably to have him to rely on – although Batman would never dare say it to the man. 

With a stiff nod Batman turned back to the computer they’d set up in the isolation bay. “I’ll open up one transporter. Use that. Be back with them as soon as you can, while you’re gone I’ll contact the others to let them know what’s happening. Don’t put on your ring. Just in case. We don’t know how potent this thing is yet.”

Hal took all of Batman’s instructions in stride. Nodding with the occasional word of affirmation before pausing by the doors. It was Bruce that spoke to Hal last, just before he left.

“Be careful.”

The smile Hal shot over his shoulder was positively mirthful and Bruce made sure he wasn’t directly facing the man. He wouldn’t smile with the cowl on but it hardly mattered – Hal knew he meant it. With one parting mock salute Hal vanished out the doors as they slammed shut and locked behind him, leaving Batman alone again with the unconscious alien. 

Batman trusted Hal. The thought was so absurd he almost laughed. When had he truly started to trust anyone? Maybe it started with Dick or Alfred. Maybe it was when he fist met superman, the alien he’s made thousands of precautions for. Maybe it was the firs time he took off the cowl and looked at Superman. Maybe, just maybe it was the moment when Clark looked at him and smiled when he said Bruce instead of Batman.

Yeah, he trusted them. He trusted his team. It was a dangerous amount of faith to place in any one person, let along a group this large and varied. But he had done it all the same and now he had to wait and see if Hal would pull through with that trust.

He should have doubted them, at least a bit – but Bruce just didn’t.

“Bruce…” What he didn't trust was that voice, or rather his own reaction to it. 

Superman had stirred again. Coming out of his sleep slower than he had on previous occasions. The groggy voice and slow slug back to the waking world almost had Batman forget himself for a moment. He had to be careful with that trust – it was a dangerous thing to give.

Turning back towards the containment cell, Batman steeled himself. Rising to his full height before approaching the wall between the pair of them. For the briefest second he regarded the wall dubiously, doubting for a moment how sturdy it would be against a kryptonian’s fist. The notion was quickly discarded, he designed these cells specifically for this reason. Unfounded doubt had no place here.

Beyond the other side of the wall the alien continued to right himself. Sitting upright from the bed he’d been placed on after his last outburst. Batman watched, impassive as Superman blearily looked around, looking every bit as lost as someone coming out of unconsciousness ought to look. He made a small sound of discomfort and shifted as if he was sore. Batman knew he would be. Whatever had attacked his body was waging war on him, he’d exerted himself struggling with air already. The thrashing would leave him sore where even a bullet wouldn’t scratch. The virus had turned the man’s on strength against him, forcing him to wear himself out within a few hours and leave him more vulnerable than when it first entered his body. It was attempting to break him down in whatever way it could. 

Batman found himself regarding its effects are genuinely malicious. It was senseless to assign human mannerisms to a disease or infection – but Batman found himself unconsciousness giving it human faults all the same. After all there was no other creature on their planet that could be described as malicious but that was exactly what this felt like. He was above petty superstitions but…well in this line of business he’d seen most anything one could think of. Some sort of disease carrying ill intent would not be that absurd all things considered.

“Superman.” He addressed the dazed man calmly, keeping a level tone and sturdy posture even as the man turned to look at him. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” A lie. A very obvious lie. “A little better.” He amended quickly. Batman watched without moving an inch as Superman struggled to stand. His arms were shaking, his legs even more so. They obviously wouldn’t carry his weight.

“Superman, don’t stand.” Batman ordered but it seemed the fool was determined to do just that. Batman opened his mouth to advise against movement once again only for Superman to try his hand at standing and immediately crumble to the floor. “Superman!” Batman lurched forward, hand going for the control panel only to recoil at the last second. He’d been about to open the door; he’d seen Superman fall and acted defensively without thinking. 

He stood frozen, hand lingering over the panel, only inches away from removing the only thing keeping the man inside that cell.

“Bruce?” The man under the cowl tensed when he heard Superman’s voice. This time when he called the dark knight’s name – there was a sharper edge to it. “Aren’t you going to help me?” 

He’d almost got him. Superman had baited him and Batman had damn near fallen for it.

Moving at a purposefully slow pace, Batman lowered his hand away from the panel and the man’s only hope of escape. Then, keeping with his chosen pace, he turned to look back into the cell.

Superman hadn’t gotten back up, his performance was only half faked. His body was still trembling and clearly being pushed beyond its limits but he wasn’t collapsed as Batman had first feared. Instead the red cape sat, one knee pulled up to his chest and a hand latched onto the metal bed’s surface – watching Batman closely.

Realizing he hadn’t been able to get Batman to open the door from a slight tumble the kryptonian’s face contorted into an angry sneer. “I could have been very hurt.” He accused in a tone that hadn’t a shred of well-mannered Clark Kent behind it. There was barely even any of _Superman’s_ comforting baritone.

Batman took a very clear step back from the panel and Superman snarled at him. He hardly looked human with that expression plastered on his usually pleasant face. Batman almost took pity on him, seeing how terrible his condition was and the strain it was clearly taking on his mind as well. Clark would be mortified if – _when_ – he returned to his senses.

“You’re unwell.” He said for what must have been the seventh time. “I cannot let you out. This is for your own good.” 

This reasoning clearly did not satisfy Superman because he was abruptly back on his feet. Batman bit down the urge to once again tell him that it was ill advised to move about in his condition. Whatever was happening made him extremely aggressive and even more careless towards his own wellbeing than usual. If only to add to Batman’s mounting stress levels.

“That’s Batman talking.” Superman spat, the words far too venomous to sound right coming out of the hero’s mouth. “I don’t want to hear from Batman. I want to hear from Bruce. Bruce wouldn’t leave me in here.” 

Again the word delirious came to mind.

Batman allowed a few seconds to pass without an answering word before gradually letting his eyes slip back to the monitors he and Hal had set up. Superman followed the motion and growled when he realized those were no doubt his vitals up on the screen. They’d taken some of his blood of course. Breaking out the kryptonite scalpel that had once been used to take a bullet made of the same green mineral from Superman’s chest. It was again being used to save him, funny how they needed the only substance on earth that could kill the man in order to save him. The machines were still running over it and Batman had already spoken to Alfred for his take on it. But these things took time. Especially when it was kyrptonian make up rather than humans.

Batman had no time to attend to the man’s injured sense of pride or privacy.

“Let me out!” Again he demanded, this time slamming his fist down against the metal table he’d just used to carry his weight. Batman resisted the instinct to flinch when the surface dinted under the aliens hands. He knew that Superman could have, by all rights, smashed it in two normally. Which meant he was weakened. This did nothing to comfort Batman as he watched the caged man go through the motions of rage, all the while trying to speak sense in return. 

“You’re unwell.” Batman repeated sternly. “Not in your right mind. You’ll stay there until we can help you. We want to help you, Superman.”

“Then let me out!” Superman roared back, shoulders heaving with the effort to simply drag air into his lungs. “Please, Bruce? Please let me out?” 

It would have worked to make him feel guilty. Might have even convinced him to take a softer tone with the sick man, except the bruises around his throat were still aching. They would no doubt already be turning an ugly shade. Alfred was going to be furious with him, knowing he couldn’t go out as Bruce Wayne until they dulled enough for make up to easily cover.

“Last time you were allowed in the same space as myself you attempted to kill me, Superman. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten the threats you were spitting when you first woke up.”

The words hung heavy between the pair. Batman waited, for a denial or even a promise not to do it again – he’d accept neither of course. Then gradually Superman smiled. The expression was mirthful and Batman repressed a shudder of discomfort. It looked wrong on the man’s face. 

“Scared?” The man ventured, tone more biting than Batman had anticipated. “The great Batman, _scared_?”

“A healthy level of cautiousness.” Batman corrected sharply and turned his back on Superman.

He couldn’t quite stop himself from wincing when he heard Superman bang his fists against the barrier. Part of him was genuinely beginning to doubt his own design with the wall. His imagination supplied helpful images of spider cracks appearing under Superman’s fists. A sore throat would be nothing compared to what could happen should Superman get free.

“How can you turn away from me, Bruce?” Superman shouted, voice hoarse and uneven. Batman wanted again to tell him to sit down and reserve his strength. To not give anymore ground to whatever the mystery virus was doing to his body. But the words never got free knowing full well that they would go unheeded should he speak them.

“For your own good.” Batman said instead, not allowing his voice to waver. Until the very last moment where his words softened with sincerity. “I’m going to help you, Superman. So please – trust me.”

“You’re going to kill me! I _know_ you are!” Against his better judgment, Batman turned to look at Superman. The kryptonian slumped against the glass wall, looking every bit a desperate man. “You have all these…these contingency plans to kill me, Batman. It’s going to be you – only you think about killing me this much. You’ve thought about it more than Luthor ever could.”

He was at a loss.

Staring at Superman’s ragged form, Batman couldn’t find the words to dispute the man’s claims. They’d both known how this worked, Clark had given his own support to Bruce in the past on this matter. Regardless of how silent it was. He understood that Batman was only doing what had to be done, should something go wrong they had to be prepared. Clark _understood_ that.

Yet Batman found himself at a loss when Superman threw doubts back in his face. He rationalized that this was nothing more than the mad ramblings of a sick man, but even after a silence had settled between them, Batman could feel a chill in his bones left behind by the accusation. Again he justified himself. The kryptonite, the contingencies – all of it was for the earth’s safety as much as it was for Superman. 

“Rest.” Batman commanded, turning his gaze away from Superman, refusing to acknowledge the outburst. “You’ll need all your strength.” 

There was no reply and after the silence stretched on for a further two minutes, Batman finally looked back. Superman lay limp where he’d moments ago been sitting upright. The small jolt of panic that shot through Bruce was short-lived when he noticed the man’s breathing. It was no more even than it had been in the past hour but it did not seem any worse. He’d simply slipped back into unconsciousness. 

Sighing heavily, Batman lifted the cowl off his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes were dry and beginning to ache after staring at the monitors for too long. He felt fatigued, forgetting when the last time he slept properly was. But Batman still had work to do and an alien to keep track of. His miniscule discomfort would go ignored for now.

His fingers lingered on the keys to his computer for a couple of seconds as the sound of the machines fans whirled and the containment fields buzzed, creating a perfect electronic ambience. It was a familiar sound and Batman took solace in it for a moment, even as his mind wandered to places he usually restricted. Superman’s feverish rantings had unbalanced him, Batman was perfectly aware of this but it did little to ease his thoughts. 

Memory readily provided evidence to Superman’s accusations. Evidence from other worlds that Batman had pried into. Worlds where he and Superman had fought, sometimes to the bitter end. The context shifted with each universe but the fights always left Bruce with a small degree of doubt. Always in himself. 

In worlds were Lords and Regimes existed there was always a bat and yet that man had done nothing to avoid the atrocities that occurred. Perhaps to say he did nothing was cruel, unjust even. But no matter what he might have done it never seemed to be enough to avoid the eventual fight. It did nothing to stop that bat from one day pulling out the kryptonite with intent to kill Superman. 

Most recently Bruce still reeled from the events Flash relayed to him in that Crooked Man’s doll house. He’d asked the creator of that world as well, demanded answers as a thinly veiled attempt to comfort himself. Had it all been nothing more than the Crooked Man’s creation then he could write it off as a work of fiction.

Behind the Arkham cell bars, the broken man had smiled at him. The expression twisting on his broken, decaying face – what remained of it that was, and he’d told Batman what he’d already known but wished to doubt. He’d told Batman that the man in that dollhouse, the one that fought a version of Superman in close combat and ultimately driven a stake of kyrponite through – had been just as real as the Flash had been in that world. Just as real as Bruce was. 

It did nothing to ease his mind knowing that it was a former Lord Batman or that the Lord Superman he’d killed was just a fake conjured up by the crooked man. Nothing helped to erase that small uncertainty in his mind.

A Batman had killed a Superman. A version of himself had chosen to cross that line and god help him – Bruce understood why he’d done it.

A second sigh pulled itself through his lungs and Bruce slumped down into his seat by the monitors, suddenly the words he’d been preparing to type seemed unimportant. For a while Bruce sat there, staring blankly up at the monitors that kept track of Superman’s vitals. He wondered again if this world was going to be just as doomed as those others. Lords and regimes, monsters and gods – all of it was just up to time and a few select choices wasn’t it?

He wondered if he’d eventually be like that other Batman, forcing kryptonite through all too easily yielding flesh. Through his best friend’s heart. 

Clark might have held him in the highest regard, might had trusted him with the lives of thousands, including his own. But right now, the Superman behind that glass riddled with a sickness that Bruce couldn’t seem to fix – that man doubted him.

In turn Batman began to doubt himself as well.

It wasn’t the first time he’d failed to save someone from a mystery disease. Briefly his mind traveled over the list of names, the ones he’d lost. The ones he’d let slip away. It always started the same, with an ally way, and then it tended to change its end with every passing year. Superman was right to doubt him, he’d let so many others he cared about die. Really this was what Superman should always feel as opposed to Clark’s unrelenting faith. 

This was justified.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noire, meet Eobitch.

The night they’d planned of bad movies and simple trash food had not gone as they intended.

Noire was panicking. He knew this and yet there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

They’d been home for little over an hour when Barry suddenly dropped. The action was so sudden and loud as his body hit the ground that Noire had jumped in fright. He’d had the tub of ice cream in his hands when Barry’s all but constant stream of verbal thought abruptly shut off. The tub ended up on the floor and Noire had yet to try and clean it up. No doubt it would have melted into horrible sticky puddle by now. The thought would have bothered him had there been any room in his frantic head for it.

Barry was barely conscious. Noire wasn’t entirely sure what to do as he sat there with the sick man, trying to remember the numerous times Barry had cared for him when illness took him. He’d gotten a damp cloth to place on Barry’s forehead, just like he’d seen in countless of those movies the speedster enjoyed so much but it didn’t seem to be helping. Barry still looked pale and sticky with sweat. His breathing sounded horrendous, like he was struggling just to pull air into his lungs. Worst of all were the moments that Barry seemed to come out of unconsciousness, he was delirious, muttering all sorts of things.

Some of those things were damning but Noire was too scared to muster up the energy to be angry the first time his mother’s name fell from Barry’s mouth. He’d ask when Barry was better…because he would get better. He had to. 

The man was stirring again, twitching and mumbling desperately through his fever. Noire scrambled back to his side, replacing the now lukewarm cloth with a fresh one. “No, no.” Noire whispered desperately, trying to hush Barry. The man was reaching up for something, babbling on about time and the speedforce – or something of the sort. It was all nonsensical jabbering of course. “No more talking, how can you keep talking even now?” Some disbelief slipped into his tone. Barry Allen could have talked underwater with a mouth full of marbles; he really should not have been surprised. 

“I, dam it. Barry I don’t know what to do…” Noire struggled for an answer. Barry looked almost coherent enough to answer him and Noire was becoming increasingly desperate. He didn’t know who to call or how to call them. He wanted to reach out to Batman, he trusted Batman to save Flash but he didn’t know how to contact them. He wasn’t a league member he had no communication network outside of Barry’s link to them. 

It was a shock when Barry’s clammy hand caught his own trembling fingers in a tight grasp. Noire flinched before looking down at Barry, he’d managed to carry the man to the bed with his shadows and get him a blanket and a cautionary bucket. Noire knew he must have looked downright pathetic, he could see tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and the attempt to hide them only caused him to sniffle. Even with his eyes only half open and his vision hazy with fever – Barry could clearly see how pitiful Noire was. Just a scared child that didn’t know how to help the person that usually looked after them. 

What was worse was the smile Barry tried to make for him. The effort of just making a comforting expression seemed painful for the speedster. The fact he tried all the same all but broke Noire’s heart. He was so powerless to do anything, that thought was almost the final straw for him and the threat of tears became very real. 

“I’m going to make you better.” He told Barry voice choked with the effort to retain at least some dignity. “Just like you used to make me better. I will, I swear. You’re going to be okay.” Those words were spoken more for Noire’s benefit than Barry’s. The older man currently too out of it to really take comfort in the promises.

He’d not gone for any of Barry’s medical supplies yet. Noire had been very firmly taught not to play with them in the past. The phrasing always made him bristle angrily, once again asserting he was not a child – but he kept his hands off the pill bottles all the same. However now it seemed he’d have to forgo that rule for Barry’s sake…he didn’t know what little tablets would help and Noire was worried he might accidentally make the situation worse if he haphazardly fed Barry medication.

Still nervous, Noire gave Barry’s hand a quick squeeze before pulling away, feeling all the more lost with just that small motion. “I’ll just be a minute.” He told Barry gently. “With…something to make it feel better.” Noire had no idea if he had such a thing but he said it all the same.

The house was dark now. Noire had barely even noticed the sun setting outside. He’d been too caught up in his own panic to pay the time of day any mind. Now the halls were dim and Noire found his eyes hurting. The contacts he kept in during the hours he spent in public were uncomfortable and left his eyes bloodshot the rest of the time. Without enough light his eyes strained to adjust and Noire found the discomfort to be impossible to ignore.

In one quick motion he was able to pry his left contact out. Unceremoniously dumping it on a nearby table. Barry would be furious at him for treating them so carelessly but Noire did not consider how his choices would render these contacts unusable.

The left came out easily with a simple pinch and Noire cringed when he felt how dry his eye was under his fingers. The right caused him a touch more grief. Four tries and he was left with the brown contact still firmly in place. Cursing under his breath Noire stumbled through the dark hallways in search of the medical cupboard and a mirror to help him remove the contacts. 

He had only made it halfway up the second step of the staircase when there was a knock at the door. 

Noire froze, the quick succession of raps against the wooden door ringing loudly throughout the otherwise silent house. There was a momentary swell of relief; someone was here, someone that could help. Noire abandoned his search for medication and rushed to the door. 

Without even realising it he knew who he was expecting. Either it was Batman, here to pull their ass out of the fire as he so often did, or it would be Lantern. Noire would have accepted either graciously – just knowing Barry would be in better hands than his own.

Except when Noire’s hand latched around the door knob the knock came again. It startled him, each tap against the wood had deliberately slowed and Noire was left standing there, listening to each leisurely tap, each one striking a note of unease in him.

Uncertain Noire hesitated on opening the door and instead stood up onto his tippy toes to peer through the small glass peephole. Barry insisted he use this whenever he was home alone and only now did Noire understand why.

Standing on their front step was a man Noire had never met before. He wasn’t in green or black like he’d been expecting, instead Noire found himself looking at a speedster decked out almost entirely in yellow.

As if he could feel eyes on him and knew that there was someone peering at him through that tiny hole, the stranger turned to look directly as it with a tiny smirk forming on his face. It chilled Noire with just how cruel it was. The only thing that scared Noire more than the smile on those lips were the words they spoke. 

“Hello there.” The stranger greeted cordially. “Mind opening the door for me, little shadow?” 

Noire could not get away from the door fast enough. 

The first stumbling steps were taken back abruptly, almost sending the boy tripping over his own two feet. He’d barely turned to run back for the living room when the door was thrown open. Noire knew he had locked it, and judging by the horrible cracking sound it made – the intruder had broken it off its hinges. 

He didn’t stop to look back at the damage, instead throwing himself as fast as he could back into the living room. Naturally he knew it was all in vain, the man in yellow was clearly a speedster – worse than that, Noire knew about him. He remembered the day Barry first told him about this man, the distant look he got at recalling the pain he’d inflicted on a young Barry Allen.

Of course he was scared, he was afraid as he was furious. On that day he’d asked Barry if he wanted to kill this man…the answer had never fully satisfied him but Noire took it all the same. It had fueled his choice to never seek out the man who had murdered his own mother. 

But now the yellow demon was here and Noire knew that should he want he’d reach Barry before Noire’s first step even hit the ground. It was deeply insulting when Noire did reach Barry first, knowing that the speedster was in no rush. The otherwise silent house now shared itself with three occupants and currently the only thing Noire could hear was a heavy pounding in his head that only just sounded over the casual footfalls of the intruder. However the feeling of humiliation was easily trampled by the relief that flooded through him at seeing Barry exactly where he’d been left, unharmed. 

It was an extremely short-lived relief. 

The wind being knocked out of him was perhaps the lesser of all the evils in that moment. Noire hit the ground hard as the weight of the stranger struck him from behind multiple times, and Noire swore he could feel his spine realign itself and his ribs rattling around in his chest after the strike. In the space of a few short seconds the speedster had beaten Noire’s body in at least several different places, too fast for the boy to fully catch. For a few horrible seconds he was left on the ground choking with lungs that refused to accept air and tasting blood in his mouth.

“Be a good boy now.” The intruder told him carelessly. Putting a stop to Noire’s feeble attempts get back up with a simple stomp on the back of his neck. Forcing the boy to stay down was embarrassingly easy. Any more pressure and he would have snapped the child’s neck like a twig under his boot.

From where the older man stood he could practically see the kid’s bones straining under the force – he was hardly an impressive physical specimen. All skin and bones, the cause for many debates in the house about meals. Had he just listened to Barry’s fretting perhaps he might have had a bit more muscle on him. 

Even as the weight of the speedster’s foot vanished, Noire was left crumpled on the ground. He knew that his face was a mess now, that finally blow had left his nose dribbling a small river of blood. Now the only thing he could taste, smell and see was red. It was disgusting, getting everywhere and even as Noire’s trembling hands came up to try and wipe it away, he only managed to make it worse, smearing it. 

A glance up was all it took to send Noire’s heart racing again. The speedster had wasted little time closing the distance between himself and the currently out of uniform Flash. There was a terrifying effortlessness to the way the man in yellow dragged Barry up by his throat. The speedster regarded Barry as if he were a particularly curious bug, one he was still debating on squashing. 

When he gave the unconscious speedster a small shake Noire let out a squawk of protest, unable to properly form the words to tell him to stop. The man laughed, a disbelieving sort of laugh. 

“Now this is truly pathetic, Flash.” He addressed the unconscious man with a level of vicious glee Noire had never seen directed at Barry. Everyone loved Barry, how could they not when he was who he was? To see anything to contradict that was a shock to the profusely bleeding child. “And here I thought you might actually manage to entertain me.” 

The name of this man momentarily slipped Noire’s mind as he struggled to get back up. He hadn’t realized just how many times the speedster had hit him till he tried to use his legs and found them entirely useless to him. The pain only registered when he looked at them, noticing to his horror that the bone seemed to be angled the wrong way in his left ankle. He heaved, very nearly vomiting on Barry’s lovely wooden floor. Would have too, were it not for the fact he hadn’t managed to eat anything at all that day. 

The horrible gagging sound he’d made seemed to attract the intruder’s attention again and through bleary eyes Noire could see the way Barry’s body swung, limp as he was jerked up higher.

“A bit much for you?” The man inquired. His tone just as malicious as it had been when directed at the Flash. The only change was that it was perhaps less sharp, more playful. While the Flash was worth every ounce of his spite, the boy just made for an amusing plaything. A momentary distraction at best. 

Eobard glanced between the bleeding boy on the floor to the hero he held tight in his hand. Barry was clearly too far-gone to the world to come around even if Eobard was to throttle the life out of him right then and there. Hardly a fitting end to the entirely too far stretching feud they shared. He saw no reason not to enjoy himself while the Flash was completely at his mercy. Perhaps leaving another event to keep the man awake at night.

“Let go of him.” Noire tried to assert himself, tried to get the words out without whimpering. He did well ignoring the coughing that nearly choked out the intended meaning of his words. “I said let him go!” The boy tried again, his voice only a little stronger than it had been the first time around. “I-I’m warning you!” 

He was hardly surprised when the man laughed again. He looked like Noire had just delivered a perfect punch line and the child cowered away from the sound. 

Noire wilted under the man’s delighted eyes. He very nearly tried vanishing into the floorboards when the threat of an accidental ‘please’ slipping out of him presented itself. He hadn’t felt quite so powerless in a long time. Even when enduring his littler brother’s beatings, Noire never felt this helpless. 

In his terror the boy very nearly forgot that, despite the usual rule about limited superpowers around the house, he still did in fact have a way to defend himself and Barry. His body wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. But then again, Noire had never exactly been a physical fighter. 

It was with a swell of misguided confidence that Noire threw his first shadow. The attack came suddenly, surprising both the conjurer and his intended victim. The man’s fingers loosened around the Flash’s throat when a sudden dull force struck his shoulder. It was abrupt, even by a speedster’s standards and for a few confusing seconds, Eobard was at a loss. By the time the second strike came he’d worked through his shock and easily moved aside of the black spike as it shot up from the ground.

Unfortunately that small lapse in focus caused him to lose his grasp on Barry’s throat and the speedster was dropped. Noire let out a yelp of alarm when he saw Barry plummet towards the ground and drew away focus from his assault to instead catch Barry in a cluster of the shadows. Immediately Eobard cursed his mistake and dove for Barry’s prone body, only for the shadows that snared him to snap shut like a set of needle sharp teeth.

Snarling the speedster whirled on the boy and took a small grain of amusement when he saw doubt cross the child’s face, replacing his momentary triumph. He might have saved Barry for the moment but now there was little dividing the unknown speedster’s attention from him.

The first step he took towards Noire was at a human pace and it prompted the boy to try and scramble away, only to be given a painful reminder of his currently useless limbs. 

Eobard glanced down at the ankle he’d dislocated and a familiar vindictive sense of satisfaction flashed through him. It momentarily quieted his rage at having been pestered by the boy’s attempts to protect the sleeping Flash. Enough that he was once again able to pull a small level of enjoyment from all of this.

“What now?” Eobard sneered, gesturing vaguely towards the boy’s broken and prone body. “Surely you had a better plan than this.”

Through the haze of fear and panic, Noire Harlow still had it in him to take offense. 

“Drop dead.” He spat with as much venom as his small frame could muster. 

A brief look of amusement flashed across the speedster’s face and Noire’s insides twisted up in spite. He was rather sick of being treated like a child, even by monsters. There was some sort of comment forming on the man’s tongue and Noire didn’t want to hear it. 

The only coherent thought that crossed his mind as he dragged up the speedster’s own shadow, poising it behind his back square between his shoulders, was an incredibly simple one. 

He wouldn't let this man make an orphan of him again.

The strike of the shadow very nearly caught the man. It was only his super speed that saved him. At the last moment he noticed the boy’s focus shifting from his face to something over his shoulder. As the yellow speedster whipped around, he narrowly avoided being struck through the heart, the hardened shadow shot past him and landed into the hardwood floor, leaving a rather telling hole under its tip.

Eobard glanced at the damage and acknowledged that may have very well have been his chest sporting the fist sized hole had he not noticed the boy’s clumsy attack.

“My, my. Not very hero like of you.” Eobard mused. “Didn’t Flash teach you attempting to murder a guest is extremely rude?”

“Not much of a guest are you and--” Noire hesitated, gaze slipping over to where his shadows curled protectively around Barry. “He’s not awake right now, is he?

 His stomach did a little flip when the speedster’s face broke out into a feral grin, as if Noire had just told him something absolutely wonderful. “Well now, isn’t that very interesting.”

Noire tried again to move away and find an escape when the man approached him. 

The attempts to scramble away barely got him more than a few feet before his back met with the wall of the living room. Frantic Noire looked around for anywhere else to go and found himself trapped between the stranger with murder in his eyes and the wall of Barry’s home.

His legs were useless to him and with his mind in such a state of chaos simply floating seemed an impossible feat. Even the shadows he desperately tried to call up, flailed and lost shape in seconds, becoming useless puddles where they fell. They couldn’t take shape unless he was focused and there was little room left in his head for anything other than the monster walking towards him.

Noire was paralyzed with fear. The worst part of it all was that this was in no way a new experience for him. 

In the dark he could see the speedster’s eyes glowing and an unfamiliar chill shot up his spine when he noticed the man’s eyes were red. Distantly a horrible thought caught in his head, did he look even a fraction like this when his contacts were out? Unconsciously, Noire’s fingers slipped up to his eye, the only one not currently covered with a brown contact and disgust surged through him. 

“You’ll have to indulge me. I haven’t taken the time to enjoy this sort of thing in a number of years.” The speedster told him conversationally, the only hint of his true intentions shone through in the way his eyes were dancing with delight. Thawne dropped down to crouch in front of the trembling child, eyeing the way his every muscle pulled tight with dread.

“You and I, we’re going to leave Barry here a small reminder. Lets see now…” 

Noire’s heart leapt up into his throat, choking any sound of fear that might have escaped him as the man’s gloved hands carelessly brushed over his leg. The touch was barely more than a caress but the simple action and the implications of what came next sent Noire into a fit of panic. He knew exactly what the man was thinking as his fingers lingered on his ankle, debating which bones he was going to break. There was something to the slow, calculated way he watched Noire that was worse than if he’d simply struck him at super speed again. He was letting the horror of the situation sink in to see if it would drive the boy into hysterics, and it was working.

It was only then that the tears really started to become a problem, finally spilling free from his eyes. They were accompanied with a horrible choking sound at Noire gagged on some of his own air. 

“Ah, no. Shh, shh.” The speedster hushed him with mock tenderness. His fingers gliding past the boy’s red stained cheek gently, some of the tears that had slid through the mess of blood collecting on the surface of his gloves. “I’m not going to kill you yet.” He assured softly, as though it were some sort of consolation. It did nothing to stop the soft sobs Noire couldn't bite back. 

The man’s hand stilled on Noire’s right leg and in an instant he knew what that meant. As if he could somehow shield himself from what came next, Noire squeezed his eyes shut. Salty tears still managed to seep free from under his eyelashes and he felt the final contact slide out of position just before the speedster’s touch became punishing. 

There was an audible crack and Noire opened his mouth to shriek but not a sound of the scream came out. Desperately he clawed at the speedster’s arm, still unable to make a single sound. The bone had given away easily under the added pressure of the man’s speed and Noire was not nearly brave enough to look. Knowing it would no doubt look just as bad, if not worse than his ankle had.

Without a word the speedster caught one of Noire’s clawing hands. The motion grabbed his attention back and Noire’s eyes snapped open, staring up at the man as he held his tiny, trembling hand in his much larger ones. The contact that had been jostled fell from his eye, hanging from one of his bottom lashes; it went ignored as Noire was too terrified to both getting rid of it. 

In the back of his mind Noire compared this stranger’s clutch to Barry’s. Their hands were different in every way shape and form. The only common ground between the two was how much larger they were when compared to his own and how gently they momentarily handled him. 

Noticing the man was eyeing off his fingers, Noire began to shake his head desperately trying to yank his hand back to his chest. Then the bastard chuckled and the scream that Noire hadn’t been able to vocalize came out in the form of words. Extremely hateful words. “I’ll fucking kill you! You bastard, you fucking piece of-- let me go! I-I swear I’ll--!” 

“Not even a please out of you yet.” The speedster easily cut across him, unbothered by the boy's snarling. His hands settling on Noire’s pinky. “Why don’t you try asking me nicely?” 

“Go to hell.” 

This time when the bone broke, Noire screamed properly. 

“How about we try that again.” He was still screaming when the man’s hand caught him by the throat, efficiently tapering off that scream with a choke. “Eyes on me, little shadow.” 

There were still tears blinding Noire when he attempted to scowl up at the man. His own red eyes meeting the other’s. He knew that his eyes could never quite look like this man’s. There was a sharpness, a complete lack of compassion that Noire didn’t think his eyes could emulate if he tried. He hadn’t seen eyes like this before. Not even in the mad gaze of the man who killed his mother or the bat’s own brand of aloofness. Just looking at them made his blood, what little of it was still left in his body, run cold. 

Noire was out of his depth and he was drowning.

“Hm, would you look at that.” The man mused, fingers tightening around the boy’s extremely fragile throat while his other hand caught the contact that had fallen free. He eyed the ludicrous thing with faint amusement before looking back at the red-eyed boy, squishing the contact as an after thought. “You’re quite the little monster, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I won’t tell Flash. Not this time.” 

Noire’s vision swam and black spot started to appear at the corners of his eyes. He could still see the man’s eyes and the smirk on his face as he squeezed the life out of him. Even after most of his sight had gone dark, he could still see the red of those eyes shinning through the haze. What he didn’t see was the moment the speedster’s face suddenly fell, losing all its glee in a single second to be replaced with something akin to confusion.

Abruptly his throat was released and Noire slumped back against the wall coughing violently as his lungs hurried to pull air back in. He didn’t quite follow what happened between the few seconds that he was let go and the blur of red and yellow that accompanied the man’s abrupt departure rushed past him. 

Left baffled and aching in ways that were alien to him, Noire stayed where he’d been dropped for a whole minute more just trying to teach himself how to breath again. Once there was enough oxygen in his brain Noire vaguely questioned what had happened. The thought didn’t take up much of his attention however as thoughts of Barry came flooding back.

Frantic Noire looked up and found Barry exactly where he’d been left. The remains of his shadow cage pooling around the sleeping speedster’s body. At some point even those shadows had lost their shape, no doubt they were the last thing to give out as Noire’s consciousness teetered on the edge. But it hardly mattered, Barry’s chest was still rising and falling – he was alive and the monster was gone. 

Noire didn’t stop to wonder what had convinced him to leave so suddenly.

Instead the child, still hurting and bleeding, half dragged, half hobbled over to his caretaker. Noire was able to float a fraction now that his head was a little clearer. It was only enough to keep his broken leg and twisted up ankle off the ground but even that took a great deal of effort and Noire collapsed back next to Barry, his strength failing him very quickly.

In a form of desperation Noire reached for Barry, bloody hands hovering over the speedster as they sought out imagined injuries. Besides a slightly angry bruise around Barry’s throat from being handled earlier – he seemed to be okay. The sickness that originally put the man down was still raging but there was nothing new to threaten his life. Small favours. 

Relief rushed through Noire, making him almost hysterical as he choked on a laugh. The tears made reappearance and he struggled between laughing and crying for a few minutes. 

He was still holding Barry tight, ignoring the horrible angle his right pinky was sticking out at, when there was a sound at the front door. 

Terrified the man had returned Noire hugged Barry closer and whipped his gaze towards the door. He didn’t hesitated in calling upon every shadow he had under his control to shoot up in a rather deadly display of spikes at the doorway. 

“Woah, hey!” Hal Jordan very nearly got himself impaled when he tried to walk into the living room of Barry’s home. “It’s me, kid. It’s me!”

Noire’s frazzled mind took a few seconds longer to register that it was Hal there and not the yellow demon. Had it been any other day, Noire might have kept the spikes there and spat something about not minding if Hal got a bit scuffed up. But on that night, Noire’s shadows fell apart at the same speed with which his expression did. 

“Help me.” Sobbing harder than he had during the entire ordeal, Noire begged the man to do something. Anything. Noire couldn’t do anything on his own this time, he needed help and he felt no shame in asking for it. Even if the plea came with more tears. 

For all of Jordan’s faults, Noire would forever be thankful for him in moments like this. He’d die before admitting it to the lantern but Noire trusted Hal more than most. He trusted him to make things right and most importantly to help Barry. 

He only needed to ask once.

  

…  
…

 

“It was a shit show in there, spooky.” 

Crude terminology, but Bruce had to admit that it was an apt description. 

When Jordan had returned to the watchtower Bruce had been expecting the situation to be bad. He’d not been surprised when Hal carried Flash inside – clearly very sick, and he would not have been surprised had Noire been brought to him in the same condition.

He had not expected Hal to come rushing into the medbay, with an exceptionally injured child in his arms. The mere fact that Noire had offered up no protest and allowed Hal to carry him had been Bruce’s first clue to the extreme nature of the situation. The second had been Hal’s lack of joking. There hadn’t been so much as a single witty quip thrown since he arrived on the station and Bruce had been forced to take a small step back from that situation as Hal went about setting up both Barry and Noire in the medical bay with a ferocity that Bruce knew better than to cross. 

There was precious little in this universe that forced the green lantern of earth to turn serious over. Bruce knew when his criticisms would cause an explosion from Jordan and so he kept silent and monitored the situation as Hal dealt with the pair.

Noire had slipped in and out of consciousness a few times and taken two of the few moments he was fully awake to dry heave into a bucket readily supplied by Hal. Bruce noted that he never actually managed to vomit anything more than stomach acid up; food would be on the list of things to be taken care of once the boy’s stomach settled. 

The only time Bruce had been required to step in was when Hal called him over, voice hard with focus and a barely contained panic. It had not taken him long to realize why he’d been called upon. Noire had at least three separate joints and bones that needed to be realigned. It was a mercy that he was not as fast a healer as Barry was or the bones would have already knitted back together at the wrong angle by now. That being said, Bruce still winced in sympathy for the boy when he and Hal pushed his ankle back into place and set the bone of his little finger right.

He’d unfortunately become aware during the former and started screaming. He was awake but not fully in the moment and Hal quickly reassured him that he was safe with them. Bruce watched the understanding gradually cross the boy’s face as he realized he was with friends, not who ever he had thought he was with when he came back around.

Then the tears started up again and Bruce took another step back. 

Noire was a ridiculously prideful thing and he could just catch snippets of protest and biting comments as Hal tried to comfort him. Jordan and Noire never quite stopped butting heads and Bruce almost wanted to take over from Jordan to avoid unnecessary argument but he knew if he tried to, Hal would snap at him. 

Idly Bruce regarded the protective display. It was unlikely Hal knew himself how territorial he got whenever Barry or the boy were in harms way. No one was about to inform him of this personality trait. 

“What happened?” Batman asked flatly. 

Barry remained unconscious for all of this and Noire had finally settled down. Neither asleep nor vomiting now that the initial panic attack had ended. Both Hal and Bruce kept their voices hushed as they spoke outside of the medbay. Neither willing to leave their newest occupants alone.

“Door was busted in.” Hal began slowly. “Place was a mess. Kid’s blood was all over the floor…” 

“And you didn’t see anyone?” Bruce asked, trying not to let his surprise come off as doubt. Thankfully Hal didn’t seem to take offense.

“Not a damn thing. First thing I saw when I walked in was a wall of spikes. Kid damn near took my head off. I searched the place – found nothing.” An uncomfortable silence settled between them and Bruce bit down a sigh of frustration. Between the rapidly spreading mystery disease and their loss of league members, they hardly had time to factor in assaults like this.

“The rogues just broke out.” Hal pointed out quietly, tone suggesting they pay them a little visit. Likely one that used fists rather than words to get to the bottom of things. Bruce was quick to kill that idea. 

“No. This isn’t their work.” He ignored the ludicrous look Hal shot him. “The rogues might be criminals and they might have a history of particular violence against Flash – but this? How many of the Flash’s rogues do you know of that would do this? To a child no less.” The word torture briefly crossed Bruce’s mind and judging by Hal’s grim expression he wasn’t far off that mark either. 

“Fine, _fine_. So not the rogues.” Hal ground out, body positively vibrating with anger he had no way of working through currently. Containing it until he had the opportunity to get into a training room was his only option.

“Have you asked Harlow?” Bruce enquired only to be met with another harsh stare.

“I don’t really think the kid is up to talking about it right now. Do you?” He really did not want to fight with Hal and he knew that the lantern’s aggression was just a result of his frustration. Both he and Hal was extremely tired and it was beginning to show but until Arrow and Canary got there it was just the two of them working through this. So Bruce tactfully ignored the threat in the man’s tone and instead looked back in at the medical bay.

Diana and Barry were both deep in unconsciousness. Neither looking well enough to so much as talk currently. Downstairs Superman was not fairing much better. Admittedly it came back around more frequently but each time he came back more violent than the last. Bruce could no longer stay down there with him while he was awake – any conversation started with the man lead to uncomfortable areas. But Noire didn’t seem to be suffering these effects at all.

“He’s awake.” Bruce murmured after a second of thought.

“I don’t care, spooky!” Hal all but exploded, completely misunderstanding Bruce’s line of thought. “The kid is in no state for one of your impromptu interrogations!”

“No, Jordan. I mean he’s not sick.” Bruce snipped back, struggling to keep his own voice down.

The comment pulled Hal’s anger to an abrupt halt. Almost as if he had to check for himself despite having worked with Noire for over an hour now, Hal looked back in at the kid. It clicked in Hal’s mind what Bruce was getting at. Hal had told him Noire was holding Barry when he showed up and that Barry had apparently been sick for some time now. 

Yet Noire seemed fine beyond his physical injuries. He was by no stretch human, which meant that it wasn’t only non-powered people that were safe or at least resistant to the sickness. 

Hal looked back at Bruce, eyes hard with an unspoken warning. Daring Bruce to do anything that might further upset the child. “You keep it gentle when you go in there. You hear me, bats?” 

“Understood.” Given that small piece of permission, Bruce entered the medbay. 

The sound of the mechanical doors sliding open caused the boy sitting on the hospital bed to wince. He didn’t look up at Batman approached him and it wasn't until Bruce stopped by his bedside that Noire even acknowledged him with a slight tilt of his head.

A terse silence stretched between the pair before Bruce broke it by sitting down on the side of Noire’s bed. At the same time he slid the cowl back. Everyone in this room was perfectly aware of who he was, although sometimes it felt like they forgot that small detail. As if Bruce Wayne completely vanished into Batman on occasion. The action surprised the boy as he looked up at Bruce like he’d done something forbidden.

“I…” Noire began, voice scratchy from all his crying. “I’m not going to be sent away am I?”

“Why would you think that?” Bruce asked, keeping his voice level and soft. He knew that Hal would be watching and would immediately drag his ass out if he weren’t careful. 

The boy’s hands tightened into fists against the fabric of the hospital bed. Bruce recalled this as being the third time Noire had been sat on this exact bed over the part two years. Too many times for a nonleague member, for a child, to be in need of their medical care. 

Bruce didn’t rush Noire as he worked through whatever demons he had in his head and when he struggled to get the words out Bruce didn’t offer any to move the process along. These ungrounded concerns could only be ironed out should Noire work through it himself. It would do them no favours to have Bruce put words in his mouth.

“I didn’t…Barry got _hurt_.” Noire murmured, the implied responsibility was entirely baseless but Bruce knew children were prone to taking blame for events completely out of their control. “Then there was that man and I-I couldn’t do anything. I tried…I tried to--” Noire’s shoulders were shaking but he’d already cried himself dry and no more tears seemed capable of forming. Had he not already cried so much he would have no doubt been sobbing again.

“I wanted to kill him. I _wanted_ to so bad.” Noire spat the words. The force of the admission seemed to strike Noire more deeply than it did Bruce. He was no stranger to those thoughts as a child when his rage hadn't been directed at Joe Chill. Noire had already said he would rather just never see the Crooked Man again than seek revenge for what he’d done – Barry’s influence no doubt.

There was a reason Noire had been placed with Barry Allen.

“You’re not going to be sent away.” Bruce told Noire evenly. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Noire.” 

Doubt played across Noire’s face plain as day, but there was optimism there too. A sort of quiet hope that he didn’t dare fully believe and Bruce felt a small swell of sympathy for the boy. He was still only a child and the fear of losing his new caretaker after having lost his only parent must have been a very real one for him.

“Can you tell me what happened tonight?” Bruce asked, still trying to keep his tone gentle. A small difficulty when he was so used to demanding answers. Right now he had to be more Bruce than Batman might only scare the already terrified boy.

For a few seconds Noire was silent, looking like he would decide to be difficult again. As of yet he’d refused to talk about what had happened, even when Hal asked Noire had only met him with icy silence and on occasion more dry heaving. Bruce ran the risk of getting one of those two reactions himself, so it was a relief when Noire finally looked up to meet his gaze again and began to speak. 

“I…Barry and I got home. We were going to watch some stupid movie, he said I’d like it.” Noire began at the very start and Bruce settled into listen. 

Just like when Noire was working out how to express his earlier concerns he needed time to recount what had happened to them. Bruce paid close attention to the time frame and effects when Noire recounted how Barry had suddenly dropped, not all that different to how Superman had abruptly fallen. It had taken the speedster almost two hours longer to really feel the effects of the sickness.

“He was fine all day.” Noire told him, making vague hand gestures as if he just couldn’t understand what happened. Bruce’s eyes narrowed in on the bandaged up hand the boy had. The pinky had been wrapped up with his other finger to keep it in place and Bruce could only hope it would heal correctly and not need resetting. “There was nothing wrong with him, nothing at all. Then we left the watchtower and he was really tired and slow. He kept telling me it was just lack of sleep…”

“And you feel alright,” Bruce thought better of the question. “,you don't’ feel sick? No tiredness or dizzy spells?”

“No. Well…I mean.” Noire glanced down at his legs still hidden under the blanket and for a second he did look a touch sick. “Not sick, no.” Sore, horrible, hurt – a whole other array of unpleasant sensations no doubt – but illness was not among them.

“Besides all that, I feel fine.” The boy glanced timidly over at Diana’s bed. She was no more likely to wake up again than Barry was. “People are getting sick? Are they going to get better?” It was rare to see Noire not attempting to appear braver or more mature than he really was. Right then he was just a scared kid and Bruce reminded himself that despite all his personality faults, he was still just a child.

More than that he was a child that he was directly responsible for. He’d promised the boy’s mother after all.

“They will be.” Bruce assured. “But I’m going to need your help, Noire. I need to have a look at some of your blood. Is that alright with you?” Mutely the boy nodded, wide eyes looking up at him with a level of trust that almost had Bruce second guessing himself. He wasn’t used to being trusted so wholly – normally Clark was the only one to readily look at him like that and currently he didn't seem to trust Bruce not to gas him with kryptonite.

“Keep talking.” He instructed while getting up to prepare a blood test. Noire was fortunate to not need one of their specialized needles. Working with superhuman skin could be a tricky business but Noire was just as susceptible to sharp points as any other human. “Tell me as much as you feel you can.” The continued talking was half for Bruce’s pending investigation and half for Noire to keep his mind off the needle as it slipped under his flesh.

Bruce was focused on his work drawing blood, so much so that he almost missed it when Noire told him exactly who had paid them a little visit that night. All without ever giving a name. 

“Reverse-Flash?” The name slipped out before he could catch himself and suddenly Noire was focused on him again. Poor timing considering the needle was just pulling his blood into it at the time. Noire looked uneasy seeing the needle nestled under his skin but was far more interested in what Bruce had said.

When met with the boy’s unyielding attention Bruce almost became uncomfortable. “If it was Thawne,” and he had no doubt it had been, “He likely has also become ill himself after having come into contact with Barry. Speedsters are susceptible to whatever this is.”

“But human’s aren’t?” Noire inquired and Bruce nodded in silent confirmation. “And I’m not either?”

“That I can’t be sure of just yet. The virus seems to attack people at different rates. I’m still working out what causes the change in time. It could be as simple as a person’s physical strength, their immune system, their particular brand of super power. Nothing is ruled out just yet.”

Bruce didn’t notice the heavy silence Noire fell into after that. At least not for until he’d completed taking the blood sample and looked back at the now quiet boy to find his face set in a grim expression of thought.

“Batman?” This time when Noire spoke it sent off alarm bells. There was a quiet but very clear anger brewing just under the surface. Bruce felt an explosion coming but he was unsure as to what bought it on. “I know about my brother’s release.”

Ah, there it was.

Bruce sighed and looked at Noire tiredly. He hardly had time to deal with Noire’s misplaced sense of being slighted. He would have heard about it eventually but Bruce had merely wanted to avoid the inevitable angry explosion that accompanied it for as long as humanly possible.

He was rightfully surprised when Noire didn’t begin snarling at him and instead looked more guilty than angry.

“Did I ever tell you that we’re poisonous?”


	8. Chapter 8

Things moved very quickly after Batman realised what he was missing.

The reason the virus didn’t appear on any of their known records was simply because they’d never dealt with it before. No one had, it seemed to be the first time it had ever been used and Noire was the loose end they’d been looking for. Once he got ahold of the boy’s blood the entire thing began to rapidly unravel. 

Magic. Of course it was _magic_.

Precious little else could get through Superman’s defenses and Batman still recalled having been furious with Superman for not responding accordingly when White first struck him during battle and left him dizzy.

It all clicked perfectly in Batman’s mind now. Alois’s release, the odd behaviour, Superman’s condition and now he finally understood why humans were not being affected. 

“Always thinking of everything weren’t you, Lacie?” Bruce muttered under his breath while looking over the results of Noire’s blood. It seemed practically unchanged to the samples he’d taken from Noire when he was still just an infant. The virus had done nothing to him despite having come into close contact with the boy through Barry.

He’d expected to find some trace of it in Noire’s system but it was as though it had never even attempted to attack him or been completely destroyed and eradicated by Noire’s body when it tried. 

Brue had started to test out some theories he had concerning the two boys. After all Alois had always been the strongest of the pair and when they clashed his abilities would overpower Noire’s each time without fail. If they were equals they would have simple canceled one another out and Bruce still vividly remembered when they didn’t clash at all. 

More peaceful days. 

If the virus really had stemmed from White, then realistically it should have followed this pattern and affected Noire more strongly than anyone else. Yet here he was, perfectly safe from its effects. By all rights Noire should have already have been dead if the virus followed the usual trend, simply coming into physical contact with his brother left him with injuries on a good day. 

And this had most definitely not been a good day. 

“Any luck?” Batman almost flinched, _almost_. He’d let the presence of Jordan slip his mind in his concentration. 

Hal was hovering around again. He hadn’t placed his ring back on but Bruce could see him fiddling with it just out of the corner of his eye. No doubt he was beginning to reach his wits end. Hal hadn’t been parted with the ring for any length of time by choice since he was given it. 

“If by luck you mean a cure, no.” Batman answered flatly, tapping away at computer. Adding to what he knew of the monochrome brothers. Had their mother been more forthcoming he would have more than this to go off.

“Spooky.” The warning in Hal’s tired voice gave the bat reason for pause. “Give me _something_ to work with here.” 

Reluctantly Batman turned away from the console to look at Hal. He really did look exhausted, perhaps more than Bruce currently felt. They were both running around in circles, tiring themselves out and it was beginning to show in the pale complexion and heavy eyes. 

He was doing wrong by Hal to keep absolutely everything to himself. It wasn’t an act of secrecy, simply efficiency. Batman worked quickly without a need to explain all he was doing – but Jordan was going insane with being so helpless to do anything. Batman was doing them both a disservice by not filling him in.

“The theory – as it now stands – is that Noire is immune to his brother’s virus.” Hal shifted restlessly, he had his own grievances with knowing what had caused all of this. 

The children grow up so fast, one day they’re babies, the next they’re killing all your friends. 

“Additionally humans have their own immunity to it. Alois and Noire were not built to harm humans.”

“Yeah. Figured.” Hal bit back and Batman had to count to five in his mind to keep his own temper in check. They were tired – that was all. It did his patience no favours when Hal continued on to say. “She thought of everything.” Batman didn’t bother agreeing out loud at hearing the familiar sentiment echoed back at him. 

“When I checked Noire’s blood there was no trace of illness there. So either it can’t take up residence his body at all, or his immune system effectively sought out every trace of the virus and destroy it. If that is the case…” 

“You think you can make a cure or a vaccine?” There was hope in Jordan’s voice, more hope than Batman allowed himself to feel. 

“I can try.” 

“You don’t sound so confident.” 

“Realistically we’d have to manufacture a cure as well as track down the origin of the virus if there’s any hope of completely pulling the situation under control.” Batman explained with as much patience as was humanly possible given the circumstances. 

Hal’s expression darkened, as he understood what Batman was getting at. “The kid, then?”

“I find it difficult to believe that this is any sort of accident – it’s unlikely White is still in Central City. Finding him might be a little challenging.” Memories of hunting for scraps of the boy’s whereabouts filtered through Batman’s mind and he felt another wave of exhaustion hit him.

Granted White had gone into hiding and laid low for a number of months in the past. Disappearing into the slums until he reemerged with this new need to kick up trouble. But at the time Batman had been busy with other things and his search for the hiding child was put on a low lever of urgency. Perhaps finding him this time would prove to be easier now it was more pressing. 

Still, it had taken him three months last time – he did not have the luxury of so much as a week now. 

The illness had rapidly grown worse. As though it had unexpectedly kicked into overdrive. Superman was conscious less often but his thrashing had gotten far worse along with all of his other symptoms. Joining the long list of unfortunate effects of the virus was another physical distinction. Batman had observed the florescent white lines appearing along Superman’s body, stretching out like veins across his body. They pulsed horribly, throbbing at a tempo that did not match the kyrptonian’s heart rate. The further they crawled across Superman’s body, the worse he seemed to get. His temperature skyrocketed and Batman watched similar effects taking Flash as well.

Diana still had the mildest case of the virus but he’d spied a few of the spider cracks appearing under her eyes. Soon she’d follow her comrades and be littered with them. 

It was as though the virus had suddenly started working in overtime. Once again Batman applied human characteristics to the illness. Something had motivated it. With what he knew now…he’d say something had scared it.

“We start with the easy one then.” Hal announced, glancing beyond Batman towards the med bay where Noire was still sitting dutifully by Flash’s side. “Never thought that kid would be the _easy_ one…”

“Frankly, neither of them is without difficulty.” Batman muttered dryly, wishing very much that at least one of the brothers would give them a break once in a while. “But for now we’re graced with the lesser evil. Come on.”

Noire glanced up at them as they entered the room again. Batman could not place the expression exactly. It was equal parts exhaustion and anxiety as he waited for what he no doubt thought was going to be bad news. 

Given the day he’d had Bruce could hardly blame him for that jaded look. Between the beating he’d received, Barry’s current situation and to top it all off his own brother being the cause – the boy had plenty of reasons to look tired. 

Which was what Batman was quietly surprised and pleased when that hopeless look shifted into something a little firmer. Noire schooled his expression into one that was closer to determination, though it never truly lost the edge of weariness.

“What can I do?”

“You’re already doing it.”

Noire startled at the comment before following Batman’s gaze to where his hand held Barry’s limp on in his own. Batman had not failed to notice how the stretching white veins dulled when Noire was close by and receded from the places he touched. As if willing for it to do more than that, Noire held Barry’s hand tighter to his chest. He’d been given the go ahead to be in close contact with the sick as he was immune to its effects and acted as a small relief for them.

“It’s not enough…” Noire mumbled, wincing when he tried to tighten his grip only to be reminded of his slowly mending broken finger.

Honestly Batman would have preferred Noire stay in bed and rest but given the situation he didn’t try to usher Noire back to his own sickbed. He knew if he were to try Hal would have no shortage of comments about him having run from his own bed rest time in the past.

“No it’s not.” Batman agreed simply. “However there’s a chance you can do more. There’s a chance that we might be able to make a cure from your natural defense to the poison. Of course it would require a fair bit of…” 

Batman hesitated with the words, the exact moment Noire’s eyes turned back on him. He was sill just a kid and despite all the fear there was hope there and worst of all trust. It momentarily stole his calm steady words. Knowing that what he was asking for might just intrude on that trust. 

How many more times would he have to break the trust these people so readily gave him? Hadn’t Superman been enough?

“…a bit of unpleasantness.” He finished a little more slowly. “I need you to understand that this is no easy task. It might be painful, I _need_ you to understand that.” 

There was a small swell of pride in Batman and simultaneously a sense of dread from Bruce when Noire nodded without even thinking about it. Was Noire’s belief in him so boundless? Or was he really not hearing what Batman was telling him? 

“It’s my mess.” Noire told him firmly. “My little brother is my responsibility…so I’ll do whatever I have to in order to clean up after him. I promise.” He did not miss the way Noire glanced back down at Barry. Perhaps it was not faith that motivated him to push ahead without thinking.

It was wrong to play on the kid’s feelings. But then again, Noire really had nothing but feelings in him. Common sense, logic and education very rarely made an appearance in his decision-making.

“Come on then. We’ll get started.” Batman turned to leave, but paused midway through the motion. A glance back and his suspicion was confirmed, Noire hadn’t moved an inch. He was still clutching Barry’s hand and Bruce could see his bandaged fingers were trembling.

He thought of Superman downstairs. Thought of what Clark would have done and while Bruce refused to allow Clark’s airheaded nonsense influence him – there was a time and place for the man’s trademark gentleness. With Superman currently not himself, that left only those remaining to fill that void. Noire needed a Superman right now but Bruce couldn’t be that for him. Not really. 

“ _Black_.” He tried again but the child seemed glued in place. Bruce moved to try and snap him out of it with comments on time and how it could be better spent saving Barry in other ways. None of those words got free and instead he stood looking at the child that was growing up far too quickly.

Despite everything, he thought of Noire’s mother.

 _Damn it all._  

“Noire.” This time the boy turned to look at him again. He was doing little to hide the raw emotion in his face and so his surprise played out clearly for Bruce to see when he noticed the hand being offered to him. “Come on. You can do this.”

Bruce kept his hand offered to Noire, waited patiently as he slowly detached himself from Barry to reach out and take his instead. Bruce glanced down at the little bandaged hand in his own. It was still trembling when his fingers closed around him gently, ever cautious to avoid causing Noire more harm. Then he carefully led Noire from Barry’s bedside, not rushing him. 

When they passed Hal on the way out, Bruce cast the powered down lantern a warning glance. Hal, despite his shit-eating grin, didn’t utter a single word. Bruce pretended not to see the approval hidden behind that gloating smile.

It almost tripped him up when he felt Noire grab onto his cape with the hand not currently wrapped up tight in bandages. Bruce had to again ask himself how old Noire was and remember that despite how old he looked he was barely more than a child. A child now on the verge of losing a second guardian.

Perhaps Clark had been right…maybe he should have been gentler with the brothers. 

“I can’t promise this will work. I can’t even tell you it won’t hurt.” Bruce informed Noire as he led him down into the holding cells. A small, ridiculous part of him hoped that maybe Superman’s condition would improve so long as Noire was in the general vicinity. 

“But you promise to try?” 

This time there was no hesitation with his answer. This much he could promise. 

“Yes.”

 

…

 

It had taken far less time than Bruce had anticipated.

Superman had been unconscious when they entered and he remained so for the duration of the visit. Although Bruce could see Noire stealing uncertain glances in the superhero’s direction. There was some sort of awe in those looks and it didn’t surprise Bruce at all. Seeing Superman, whom too most people was indestructible, like this was quite the shock.

Most did not get to see the various occasions where Superman’s apparently invulnerability failed him. Bruce had not been among those numbers for years and now, neither was Noire.

The process started off slowly. Noire was obedient and attentive, traits he usually dearly lacked and Bruce was relieved for the absence of childishness rebellion from the boy during this. First it was a simple matter of taking blood, Noire cringed when the needles came out again but didn’t protest once Bruce explained what it was for. 

Somewhere along the way Noire stopped asking and Bruce stopped telling. Again that prickle of uncertainty formed at the back of his mind. Knowing that Noire was just allowing him to do whatever he deemed necessary without asking what every little discomfort and pain was for.

He trusted Bruce not to do wrong by him.

Which made it all the more troubling when he began taking the blood. Knowing that it was the smallest of discomforts that he might have to put Noire through in order to make any progress. As he worked Noire was blissfully silent, no questions or comments or complaints. It was almost as though he were working on a doll with how quiet and still the child was.

Oh, he had questions of course. Bruce could see them swimming just behind his eyes in every following stare. But he didn’t ask and Bruce didn’t hazard a guess. 

The temperature of the holding cell bay was low, and although Bruce had no trouble with it he did worry about Noire when the shivering began. He, like his brother, was unable to function at certain temperatures. Already Noire’s skin felt like ice to the touch and Bruce knew he’d have to either rug the child up or have the whole room rise in temperature.

Still Noire didn’t speak or complain. Even as he began shaking so bad that his teeth must have been rattling in his head. Hal would have found Noire’s efforts to be considerate shocking and Bruce doubted Noire would repeat this level of maturity for Hal any time in the foreseeable future. 

His commendable effort to remain silent was finally broken by a small sound of pain when Bruce slipped a needle under his skin. Reflexively Bruce glanced up at the boy, looking for signs that he was going to do more than vocalize his discomfort. Noire tried to smile reassuringly, looking queasy as he purposefully avoided looking at his arm that now spilled a ready supply of blood into a tube.

“Humans do this a lot, huh?” He mumbled, trying to make light but falling just a little short. “Bleed.”

“We do try not to.” Bruce answered flatly, keeping an eye on the sample of blood he was collecting.

He wanted to compare it to the other three sick metahumans. Wanted to see what would happen when he exposed it to each of their respective infections. Then Bruce planned to look a bit deeper, to see how similar Noire’s poison was to his brother’s. He’d have to be careful in that regard, if he was careless then he’d only create a second problem for them to deal with. He was going to need a fair bit.

“It’s a new feeling.” Noire remarked, sounding very much like he was distracting himself from the needle. “Being the one canceling him out…” The boy paused, staring off at the blank metal wall of the watchtower. “Feels cold.”

“That’s the temperature.” Bruce replied automatically as he took note of Noire’s physical state. The shivering had stopped by he still had goose bumps running up and down his arms. Noire only laughed quietly and didn’t bother refuting Bruce’s comment.

With the silence broken it seemed that Noire couldn’t help but ask at least a few questions that he’d been bottling up. “I’ve never seen Superman hurt by anything before…” He murmured, voice filled with awe. “Can my brother really do that? If he can do that…there’s no way I can ever beat him.”

Bruce mostly went about his work, letting Noire fill the empty space with his speaking without offering an answer. He was trying to remain focused on finding a cure as opposed to worrying about the man in the holding cell. However he did take heed of Noire’s hopelessness. 

“Your brother is strong but untrained. Keep up your training with Flash and you’ll match his speed.” Bruce told him evenly while pulling out a small sample of superman’s blood. Curious to see what the virus inside of the kryptonian would do when exposed to Noire’s resistant cells. Curious and admittedly a little hopeful. 

Both Barry and Diana’s strands of the virus had reacted strongly to Noire’s cells being introduced. It was remarkable as much as it was ridiculous. Bruce had to remind himself that besides whatever tampering had been involved to make Alois’s poison into this monstrous disease, this was still magic and did not follow strictly scientific guidelines. Actually it didn’t seem to follow even basic logic.

Magic. He was rather sick of it. 

Still he’d been enraptured the first time he witnessed Noire’s cells attack the invading virus. It had been clean quick and efficient, the moment his cells were introduced into the equation they sought out White’s and latched onto them. In an instant they dulled and shriveled, almost being entirely taken over by Noire’s. Those that were successful in devouring the invading cells then faded out of the blood as though they’d lost the will to be there. They were perfectly and wholly harmless to the host.

Despite himself Bruce felt faintly amused by the display, it was rather telling of the nature of these viruses. To watch them clash together much like their creators would. This was the only instance where Noire won hands down.

The only problem was those few cells that remained. They gradually reformed and despite the efforts of Black’s cells, they eventually returned to their full strength and began to multiply once again. Bruce found they did this faster in Barry’s blood sample than Diana’s but when he tested Superman’s blood he was surprised to find that they were slower again.

Much slower. Insanely so.

Confused as to why this was when Superman’s condition was so much more sever than the other two patients, Bruce turned to the infection for answers.

“You think so?” Noire’s voice was just in the background as Bruce searched through his notes on the strand of White’s virus that had attacked Superman.

“I know so.” He answered offhandedly. “His magic might overpower yours under normal circumstances, however right now yours seems to be weakening his. More importantly, those with training matched against those with natural gifts will almost always prevail.”

White had obviously not factored in how stretched his power would have to be in order to infect multiple people and act without his direct order. His magic was still being influenced by his will, evidenced by his bizarre behavior and rises and falls in activity – but without him having a closer hand in it, the magic was spread too thin. Leaving it open to Noire’s attacks.

“Batman I, uh sir? I mean…well you’re human and all…” Noire struggled, stumbling over his attempts to not invoke the bat’s ire. “…so how do you do it? How do you match pace with people like my brother?”

“Having power and knowing how to use it are two very different things. Even the most naturally gifted person falls flat if they do not know how to conduct themselves. Strength is nothing without knowledge, talent nothing without skill. One human who is skilled and practiced will fair better against metahumans twice their worth in power.” Bruce paused before adding with no lacking of amusement. “It just so happens we live in a world where superpowers can, under various circumstances, be nullified. Not unlike White’s poison is to your own right now. Which is why superpowers are not to be relied on.”

There was a brief pause where Noire remained quiet and thought over what Bruce had said and then finally, in a timid voice he spoke up again.

“Can you teach me?” Bruce paused, looking away from his observation of the different strands of virus interacting with Noire’s magic to look at the boy. For a second he recoiled as though he would retract the request but then once he gathered his nerves, Noire went on. “Can you show me how to fight? Without superpowers?” Noire looked down at his bandaged hand, even the sight of the needle didn’t persuade him to look away. He observed the injury as though it were a personal slight against him. 

“Today I…today as well I failed to do _anything_. I couldn’t do anything to protect my mother or stop Crooked Man as a child. Now I’ve lost to my brother every time we’ve fought.”

The urge to tell Noire not to move his broken finger rose when Bruce noticed Noire flexing his fingers slightly. “When that monster came for Barry – I couldn't do anything to protect him. Having superpowers isn’t enough.”

Again Bruce couldn’t help but feel a small wave of pride rise up inside of him. It was not wholly unlike the sense of pride he felt whenever a team member managed to impress him or he spoke with one of the former robins. Or whenever Hal managed to go a day without saying at least one stupid thing.

“Very well.” Keeping his voice stern Batman straightened up. “Once your bones are finished knitting back together and this crisis is dealt with – I’ll teach you. It won’t be easy and I will not be anymore gentle on you than I would anyone else, so do not waste my time, Harlow.”

Despite the ice in his words, Noire’s expression melted into something positively beaming. As though he was grateful that Batman even took the time to tolerate him.

“Now don’t move.” Batman instructed as he eased the needle back out of Noire’s vein. Bruce wiped away the small bit of blood oozing out of the wound and was satisfied when it seemed to be closing back up already. Evidently even after having had a fair bit of blood taken his body was able to heal quickly enough. Hopefully his more extensive injuries would follow suit. 

“I’ll be back in a moment, touch nothing. When I come back we’ll test the first attempt at a cure.” With those orders given Bruce left the holding cells, still holding the newest sample of Noire’s blood. 

Honestly he was relieved that it seemed they only needed Noire’s blood to proceed. He’d been concerned that their efforts to find a way of combatting White’s virus would take them deeper and he’d be forced to break out more medical tools. 

Thinking back on his interaction with White a few days earlier Bruce cursed himself for not realising at the time that his behaviour was more than just fear. 

He’d been covered from head to toe and seemed to move with some stiffness, as though he’d been injured recently. Now he knew if he’d looked at the time, he would probably have found evidence of medical tampering on the boy’s body.

Just how far in had they gone to find a way to create this virus? Well…White was still alive, so that was one small relief. 

Bruce couldn’t have left the room for more than two minutes when Superman stirred. In hindsight it was foolish of him to have thought the man was unconscious for the entire time he and Noire had talked.

The sound of Superman shifted, seemingly waking up, caused Noire to jump in alarm. He would not have admitted it aloud but he was still jumpy. Every time he heard a sound that he couldn’t immediately identify, Noire’s mind conjured up impossible ideas of the monster having returned. Even as his heart started racing at the possibility, Noire knew it was just his imagination getting out of hand. There was no possible way that man could have gotten onto the watchtower. 

Batman himself designed most of this place – it was one of the safest places in the world. Or rather, off world. 

Bottom line, there was no place he would be safer. 

“Noire…” Oh god, that voice sounded so weak. Despite his very straightforward orders, Noire moved. He got up upon hearing Superman speak in that low, scratch voice and approached the cell.

Guilt hit him harder than he’d expected, seeing what was happening to Superman because of his own brother’s malice. He’d been so preoccupied thinking about Barry – about how sick he was, how horrible he must have been feeling – how he had been unable to help Barry at all – that he hadn’t stopped to consider Superman for all that long.

He looked ghastly currently, slick with sweat with familiar white veins running along every inch of his body. Noire recognized them; he’d seen Alois’s body sporting these things when he exerted his power. Another reminder of what his brother was doing. It looked painful and Superman certainly sounded like he was in pain.

So of course Noire opened his mouth and stupidly asked. “Are you okay?”

A lesser man would have snapped at the ludicrous question but Superman only attempted to conjured up a smile to try and comfort the boy. “I…well I’ve been better.” Noire watched on with concern as the man tried to right himself and in turn winced in sympathy as Superman groaned in pain. He almost instinctively moved to help only to remember the glass separated them. 

“Looks like you’ve felt better as well. Rough day?” Superman noted, taking in the boy’s battered appearance and Noire all but crumbled under the gentle tone directed at him. Straightening his back and squaring his shoulders Noire tried to keep his head up and not show more weakness than he already was. Superman’s eyes only softened further, picking apart Noire’s resolve. “Oh son…it’s alright.” 

Noire wasn’t sure if it was the strain of the day or just the simple warmth being directed at him after he’d failed so miserably, but he crumbled.

Before he knew it tears were in his eyes and the sniffling began. It was just too much too fast. His brother, Barry, the yellow speedster, even Batman’s tests – all of it was weighing on him more heavily than it should have.

Cursing himself Noire reminded himself that Batman wouldn’t have cried like a baby when things got difficult. Superman wouldn’t, _Barry_ wouldn’t, and so he shouldn’t. He had to be better, to be stronger – but here he was, a mess of a child.

With that monster’s words still ringing mockingly in his head. 

“Hey…hey, it’ll be okay.” Superman murmured from the cell and Noire tried his hardest to stop crying in front of the sick man as he approached the dividing glass wall. “What happened, tell me all about it.”

“N-No…I’m sorry. You’re sick, I’m supposed to be helping you.” Noire sniffled, rubbing his eyes furiously in an attempt to hide the tears. “Don’t worry about me.”

It was only because Noire was busy trying to clear his eyes of further tears that he missed the slight look of irritation that passed over Superman’s face at the comment about him being ill. The expression went as quickly as it had come and the smile was back in place by the time Noire looked at him again. 

“Noire, you’re helping just by being here. It feels a little better since you arrived.”

Noire’s face lit up, he believed that just by being near those suffering the effects of White’s poison he could help to alleviate the pain. He thought that Superman didn’t know about that theory and this was proof it was working. Which was why he so wholly fell for what Superman said next.

“But…it would be a lie to say it doesn’t still hurt a bit. I’m not sure how much more even I can handle.”

“I can help.” Noire said too quickly, too readily.

“I believe you.” Superman still wore a gentle smile even as his hands clenched firmly at his sides. “But I’m going to need you to help me a little more, can you do that?”

He agreed without a second thought and Superman’s smile twitched slightly, shifting just a little bit into a smirk. 

“Thank you, Noire.”

 

…  
…

 

“You sure about this, spooky?” Hal asked for what must have been the sixth time. It seemed that every time he asked he thought the answer might change.

“Not in the slightest.” Batman snapped back, getting sick of giving the same answer time and time again. “This is the first concoction we’ve made. There’s no telling how effective it’ll be or if it’ll do anything at all until I’ve tested it out.” 

“Who you going to test it on?” Hal pressed and Bruce frowned at the implication. He wasn’t about to inject anyone with anything if he wasn’t one hundred percent sure it would do them no harm. Yet still Hal persisted in pestering him. 

It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t empathize with Hal, he was growing restless as well. They needed a cure and they needed it fast.

“No one until I’m sure it won’t in some way harm them.” Bruce told him evenly, trying to hold onto a sense of control and composure he was rapidly losing. “This is purely a first draft mock up. With Noire here we have time, at least a little more, to find a full proof solution. Once I determine how effective this potential cure will be – I’ll send it through to Alfred and have him start creating different versions until we find ones that will work for a kyrptonian, speedster and warrior princess. Then everyone else.”

The injector in Bruce’s hands felt flimsy at best. He turned it over a number of times, eyeing the red liquid inside. Honestly he hoped that the magic involved would simplify the situation rather than make it more frustrating. Noire acted as a natural anti-venom, so hopefully the small adjustments he’d made to Noire’s cells would hold them together enough to give them the extra boost they needed to entirely eliminate White’s toxin.

It was a bit of a stretch but right now that was all they had.

“After that, I’ll go and hunt down Monochrome White. From there it should be contained and monitored until—”

There was a scream.

Both he and Hal froze. They’d been walking towards the holding bay as Superman was both the one most in need of a cure and the person most likely to suffer no damage should the cure fail to work. Incidentally the scream had come from that same direction. 

Bruce’s blood ran cold as he recognized the voice. 

“Kid!” Hal was gone. Batman barely had the chance to stop the powered down green lantern before he was running towards the source of Noire’s screaming. They’d heard so much of it that night already. 

He left him. Bruce had just _left_ him. 

Stupid. So incredibly, inexcusably _stupid_! 

Batman was after Hal only a second later. When they reached the holding bay they ran straight into a disaster. Noire on the ground, desperately trying to keep a crazed Superman away from him with a haphazardly conjured wall of shadows. It was purely because Superman was half mad with sickness and considerably weakened that he was able to be held back by the boy’s feeble constructs. 

The room was more of a mess than when Bruce had left it. His papers were scattered and torn around his desk. The monitor’s he’d had the various hypothetical cure constructs running through was smashed, sporting a fist sized hole in the center. The seat that Noire had been left on – and was supposed to _stay_ on – had been bent in and Bruce could see the indent of Clark’s knuckles from where he’d hit it.

For a second time Bruce was just a second too late to catch Hal as he rushed in. He saw the man reaching into his pocket and knew he was going for the ring.

“Jordan, don’t!” He reached to stop Hal but it was too little too late. The ring went on and a second later a gigantic green fist formed – striking Superman square in the chest and following through to slam him into the wall of the holding cell. 

“Get away from me!” Superman roared, throwing a fist out and shattering Hal’s construct. 

Too easily, Bruce realised. 

It was too late to caution Hal now and Batman moved into action as well. Springing forward with the injector in hand, wishing very dearly he had more time to test the thing before using it on Superman.

He made the mistake of looking over at Hal who had rushed for Noire the moment Superman was out of the way. Already those spider cracks were spreading across his flesh, stretching across his body as it sapped the power out of Hal’s body right in front of Batman’s eyes. Still Hal took Noire into his arms, protecting the boy and forming another construct without so much as a second of hesitation.

Superman did not have the distractions that Batman and Hal did. There was nothing he was protecting beside himself and unfortunately that gave him an edge. This time he was ready for the hammer construct that Hal sent flying in his direction, meeting it with his fist and once again shattering it. Despite being previously infected with the virus Superman had managed to hold onto his superior strength.

In the back of his mind Batman noted that not only had he held onto that strength, but his eyes had started to glow a dangerous red again. Knowing Superman better than he knew the layout of Wayne Manor, Batman instinctively knew what came next and in an effort to stop Hal and Noire from ending up burnt alive, Batman dove for Superman. 

His body crashed against the kyrptonian’s and as a rare treat he felt it actually cave a little under his weight. Superman was weak enough to be hurt by a blow from him like this. Not stopping to marvel in that exceptional feat, Batman pushed on ahead, throwing himself and Superman back into the now open containment cell.

“Lantern! The cell!” Batman shouted even as he whipped out the injector gun with every intention of jamming it into Superman’s chest. He absolutely hated acting without knowing what the cure would do – but they had very few options at this point.

Hal, to his credit, didn’t hesitate for a single second. Batman saw a flash of green as Hal dove for the control panel with his constructs. But most of his focus was on the struggling Superman. The feverish man had managed to snatch his wrist and despite how weak he currently was, Bruce could feel the bone beginning to strain under Superman’s fingers.

Pushing past the pain he slammed the needle down into Superman’s chest. He had to angle it right, had to hope that this would provide at least some sort of relief from White’s toxin. Otherwise he was going to have to find other ways of subduing the raging man and there were few ways available to him that did not end in kryptonite – unadvisable while Superman was still vulnerable. 

“You’re not yourself!” Bruce tried to reason with Clark, mostly out of reflex than any logical thought. “You have to stop fighting me.” 

The whirl of the glass door closing was a small relief. However Superman hadn’t stopped struggling even as the click and hiss of the injector gun registered in Batman’s mind. The experimental cure emptied itself into Superman’s system and Batman prayed that it would do its job.

“Clark!” Bruce tried again once he couldn’t see so much as a drop of red left in the gun’s container. “You need to _stop_. You don’t want to hurt anyone.”

In hindsight it was foolish of him to have spoken at all. As the moment the words left his mouth Superman’s struggling began anew and the next thing Batman felt was his spine colliding with the solid metal of the containment wall. It was a horrible snap when he hit but Batman felt vague relief in knowing nothing had broken. Superman hadn’t flung him hard enough to damage him that much but the bruising was going to be a firm reminder to think ahead before he spoke next time.

“Actually…” Superman rasped in a voice that was decidedly _not_ Clark Kent. “I just want to hurt you.”

His back ached terribly as Batman slid back down to the ground on his knees. It was nothing he couldn’t work through but it was a reminder to keep his wits about him. Superman wasn’t weak enough to be written off just yet.

“No you don’t.” He spoke, letting Bruce slip out in the words as opposed to Batman’s growl.

“I want to hurt Batman.” Superman continued lowly. “You’ll do.”

He’d had just gotten back up to his feet when Superman came at him. The fist was thrown clumsily, all anger and no skill behind it. He’d told them all a thousand times, skill would always trump raw strength. It seemed Superman could do with a little refresher.

Batman stepped aside of it and then followed through with one of his own. Once again when his skin met with Clark’s and the kryptonian’s flesh yielded in an almost human manner, Batman felt surprise. He’d struck Superman before and it had been like hitting solid metal, now he could safely say that the man had downgraded from steel to stone. 

Not pausing to revel at the different sensation, Batman followed again with a spinning kick. The strike landing just under Superman’s ribs to the right side. He crumpled under the force of the blow, the wind being knocked out of him. If it were anyone else Batman might have stopped there, but not Superman, not now. 

One final strike, this time to the face. Batman threw his knee up jamming it hard under Superman’s chin causing the man’s head to snap back painfully as his jaw snapped shut painfully. Bruce could almost feel the way his teeth jarred together under the force of the blow. 

Then Superman fell and Batman stopped.

Panting Batman watched the fallen man for any sign that he was about to get back up and go for another swing. When it seemed that Superman was really going to stay down, Batman slowly dragged himself back to his full height and gulped down a steadying breath of air.

Too close. That had been far too close.

Glancing over at the glass barrier, Batman’s frown deepened as he saw Hal slumped against Noire. Where he’d once been the one keeping the boy safe, he was now the one in need of help. Even from this distance Batman could see the effects of White’s virus attacking his body.

Noire, for what it was worth didn’t look any worse for ware, just frazzled and frantic. He was trying to help Hal, something that Batman was simply too livid to take amusement in at the present time. The boy was coaxing his shadows across Hal’s body, latching them to the places that suffered the worst of Alois’s toxin. His efforts seemed to be helping but it wouldn’t stop the virus from killing Hal given the time.

They were running out of time.

“What were you thinking?” Batman snarled, unable to stop himself even when Noire flinched, looking up at him with so much guilt and regret that it might have convinced Batman he’d learnt his lesson under any other circumstances. “What were you _thinking_?! Were you even thinking? Did you stop for a single second to consider what you could have done?”

“I didn’t…I-I…” Noire mumbled, wilting under Batman’s glare. “He…said he needed my help. I just…”

“You didn’t think!” Batman snapped furiously. “You could have gotten yourself killed. Do you understand that, Noire? You could have gotten this team killed.”

Hal’s gut wrenching coughing momentarily brought Batman’s fuming to a standstill. The sound was horrendous and he could only watch as Noire tried to one some way help Hal through the coughing fit. The virus was moving far more quickly. 

“Ease off, spooky.” Hal managed to speak after getting through the first wave of coughs. “You left ‘im alone with big blue.” Batman didn’t recoil as Noire had. Even when Hal’s own furious gaze turned in his direction. “Just…lay off, and kid?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t be so god damn stupid next time, eh?” It was one of the few occasions where Noire didn’t offer any comeback for Hal’s words. “Now…get me off the ground and to my death bed – the two of ya.”

Batman glanced back down at Superman. The man groaned low and rolled pathetically onto his side, it didn’t seem like he’d be getting up just yet but considering his other deceptions Batman didn’t risk opening the doors.

“Noire, take Jordan up to the medbay. Don’t leave his side unless I come to get you. Is that understood?” His tone promised a length conversation later on his careless actions.

Noire nodded quickly and with the help of a few supporting shadows, he helped easy Hal back to his feet and they began the slow shamble back to the medical bay. It wasn’t until the pair had left that Batman moved again.

Cautious of the fallen kyptonian Batman approached. It wasn’t until he nudged Superman and got little more than a moan of complaint that he was satisfied that he wasn’t going to be a problem.

Hoisting up the alien’s deadweight was no easy task but Batman managed to haul Superman back onto the examination table. Without assistance of resistance it was not unlike the weights he lifted in the bat cave.

“Why do you do this?” Superman mumbled, it sounded like it hurt him to talk and Batman felt no remorse for that.

“You could have killed the boy.” Was his cold reply.

“I…” Superman hesitated and suddenly he had Batman’s undivided attention again. “I…oh god. What did I do.” Superman raised his hands and for a second Batman tensed ready for another fight only for Superman to cover his face. The aggression was gone, now there was nothing besides a muted kind of horror rolling off of the sick alien. 

Batman didn’t buy it immediately, having seen that this illness was able to influence Clark to be quite the accomplished actor in the past. But seconds dragged into minutes and Superman was still in a state of horror. It wasn’t for a further five minutes that Batman began to consider that perhaps this was no act.

The cure was taking effect.

Some part of Bruce had not expected it to act so quickly but he’d watched Noire’s cells seek out his brothers and destroy them in record time under the microscope. This was simply a much larger scale and it provided him with a well needed moral boost.

“Welcome back.” He greeted Clark dryly. 

“Have I hurt anyone else?”

“No. You’ve been contained since the virus struck you.” Without letting his own eagerness shine through, Batman rounded the table and retrieved the gun he’d used to inject Superman earlier. He was already planning to take blood from Superman, to watch what would happen now that the experimental cure had been administered.

“And…everyone else?” Clark asked, voice sounding horribly raw.

“…They’re being taken care of.” It was not technically a lie but it was definitely not a straightforward answer. “Give it some time.” 

“And you?” Batman paused. Turning his gaze back on Superman who had lowered his hands and was now watching him very closely. “Are _you_ okay?”

“Perfectly.”

“For such an accomplished liar, you’re surprisingly terrible at lying to me.” Clark chuckled at Batman’s expression. Or more accurately his attempts to keep from allowing any expression to fall onto his face. Easing back down onto the table, Clark winced and shuddered violently. “It’s so hot…” The virus was still wreaking havoc on his body but a majority of the white pulsing veins had receded and given he was no longer lashing out in violent fits it was doing some good. 

“I hate magic…”

Despite himself Bruce smiled faintly at that comment. By the end of all this he felt he would have a newfound hatred for magic to match Clark’s.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lo and fucking behold, a fic that isn't lazy town gets updated.
> 
> Have some Bat, Brat and Sass.

Alois stumbled back into his shabby little apartment clumsily.

His own two feet felt like lead under his weight and he ended up collapsing against the wall with the door still hanging wide open behind him. He hurt all over. Every inch of his body was screaming in protest. The parts of him that hadn't been injured directly were suffering with the strain of having run and flown all the way back to his hole to hide.

Still despite the trembling fit he was in, Alois was relieved. Breathless and almost giddy on adrenaline he laughed. Collapsed against the wall Alois's quiet chuckles grew louder and louder until he was almost choking on his own laughter.

He'd done it. He'd actually done it.

His body would bruise and his sins would be following him for years to come but it was over. He'd done it and soon the speedster would be dead and gone. The thought was liberation.

Everything from here would get better. Oh sure he couldn't immediately show his face and Noire would be furious with him for the rest of their lives – he was disturbingly attached to the Flash after all – but it would be better.

No more wondering what the monster stalking the Flash would do to his brother. No more sleepless nights knowing Noire was too weak to do anything and was at the mercy of the Flash's kindness. No more….

Finally he could rest.

Alois was still soaking in this new feeling of freedom when a sound jarred him from his thoughts.

"Miss Imogen?" Alois called, having sworn the sound came from the apartment across from his own. The door was still open and the sound he'd caught put him mind of something being dropped or broken.

Unbidden, concerned welled up inside of Alois and he forced himself back up onto two shaky feet. Using the wall as support Alois crept closer to the open door. Part of him felt he shouldn't pry, simply because it was rude to do so. But Imogen had always been an amusing lady and despite her insistence he eat better, she'd done nothing but assist him since he'd moved in.

The absolute least he could do was check in and make sure she hadn't fallen and broken a hip or something. Although Alois hesitated when he looked down at his current state. Clothes disheveled, lingering scar marks from the tests he'd endured and now a whole new set of bruises from the monster's hands.

He'd known speedsters were fast but even Alois had not been prepared for just how fast they were when the attack came in his direction.

The result some nasty bruises and a permanent reminder to avoid speedsters for the foreseeable future.

Regardless of how horrible a state he was in, Alois still forced himself to hobble over to the door and peer into the hallway. Miss Imogen's door was still jammed shut, just like always and there was no sign of movement around their floor.

"Ma'am?" He called again, hoping she'd just shout back at him to mind his own business or quit making a racket.

When no such rebuttal came Alois inwardly groaned and began the painstaking trip across the hall to miss Imogen's door. He couldn't very well leave her now that he suspected something was wrong. What would his mother say if he were to do such a thing?

Perhaps it was best not to wonder what his mother would think of him now that he was a criminal.

"Miss Imogen? I'm going to open the door." He informed the silent air around him as his hands laid against the cool wood of the doorhandle.

Now normally Imogen never left her door unlocked. She was not a Central City local – in fact she was much himself, a Gotham child. He'd listened to her rantings about Gotham more than once and had been able to offer up a few comments of his own. Perhaps that was why she took such a shine to him in the first place. People from Gotham did share a rather bizarre kind of kinship.

Everyone in Gotham knew that locking your door was only the first of a long line of steps one needed to take to even appear slightly secure at night. So the habit of keeping three locks on her door had stuck even after she moved to Central City. A considerably safer city.

How amusing, he thought idly, that she was living across the hall from a known criminal.

Not that it ever seemed to bother the old bat. He was positive she knew and Alois was still unsure as to why she hadn't chased him out herself. She was certainly sturdy enough to do so. Perhaps she knew Snart? It was a long shot but…well it had been Snart's safe house before it was his home.

Of course he was surprised when the door opened under his hand. Frowning Alois peeked inside. The apartment was much like his own with only some minor layout changes and a world of homely items added. Alois had few possessions of his own and besides his books he didn't have anything to fill the cupboards or shelves.

Miss Imogen just had  _things_. She had things in spades.

She had new things, old things, shiny and tiny things. Things Alois had no name for that lit up if you touched them. Oddities and trinkets from various cities across the country. Miss Imogen liked to travel in her youth and apparently when she traveled she liked to bring everything she could fit into her bag back with her. The result a wonderland of garbage.

Alois's stomach almost turned. It was so unorganized. The sight of it made him queasy. Were it anyone other than Imogen he would have demanded the fix the place or at least allow him to tidy it up. But as it was Imogen was a steely old lady and he'd sooner get a whack from her cane than he would an ill word about her humble abode.

So despite his distress Alois forced himself not to look at the clamor and instead try to find the owner of the mess.

"Im." Alois called, his tone falling into one of vague frustration as he eyed the mess. "Your door is unlocked, are you home or not?"

This time Alois got an answer, just not the one he was looking for. As he stepped into the kitchen he found himself looking at a blank mask. Quite literally. He was staring at some fool with a sock or something equally ridiculous pulled down over his face.

What on earth…

"Are you  _robbing_  this place?" Alois asked aloud, disbelief clear in his voice.

The man stopped red-handed, holding one of Imogen's beloved oddities. At a glance Aloid deemed it worthless. It was painted gold but he would have guessed it couldn't cost more than a few dollars. The person holding it must have thought otherwise.

The longer Alois stared at the intruder the more he began to piece together how ridiculous this whole thing was. The man wasn't a man at all, but a child. Maybe only just out of high school or getting to that point. And here he was trying to rob an old lady of her trinkets. Alois would have been furious were it not so sad.

"Get out." Alois ordered sharply. The boy didn't move, clearly still suffering from the whole deer in the headlights sensation. "Go on, out. I'm not going to call the police if you scram right now."

The last thing he needed was police nosing around. They couldn't find anything he was sure but Snart would hate it if the cops were poking around one of his places.

"Just drop whatever you've grabbed. This junk isn't worth the time to steal it anyway." Alois added, picking up a little…saltshaker? It was shaped like half of a hugging couple and he could see three more sets with similar themes. Honestly, why Imogen felt the need to own any of this was beyond him.

To the kid's credit he did decide to bail. Hastily dropping the duffle bag that he hadn't even had the chance to fill halfway, and trying to skirt past Alois. He would have made it too hard Imogen not returned home at that exact moment.

Alois sighed sympathetically on the boy's behalf.

"And what exactly is going on here?" Imogen's shrill voice rang out and despite himself Alois found a smile forming on his face. Imogen had to be pushing the eighties by now and somehow she still had more strength in that voice than half of the youth of the era.

"Im." Alois greeted easily with a bemused smile. "Unexpected house guest, he was just leaving." The boy learnt very quickly that Alois had been trying to spare him.

Imogen snapped her eyes over to Alois. Her tiny, sharp eyes taking in his appearance ein one quick sweep. Not a second later she raised her cane and struck the poor sod between the eyes. Alois winced at the sound of the sharp thwack of wood meeting flesh, followed immediately by an undignified yelp of pain from the young man.

Swinging her cane back again, Imogen delivered another blow to the boy's shoulder. Then another to his arm, then his chest. Over an over again she whipped the cane back around and each time Alois flinched while the boy shouted out in pain. Pleas for the old bag to stop falling out of his mouth.

"Disrespectful little runt!" Imogen spat. "Coming in here, roughing up our young men!"

As amusing as it all was and as guilty as the guy was of trying to rob her – he hadn't committed that particular crime. So Alois once again extended more kindness to the boy than he strictly had to. "Im, he didn't rough me up. I'm fine – promise."

Immediately the assault stopped and Imogen was eyeing Alois suspiciously. She looked between the pair once more before reaching up to snatch the intruder by the ear and drag him deeper into her abode. Alois watched on, mildly curious as to what she intended to do to the poor soul. Imogen dragged the simpering fool to the living room, jerked him down to her level and steered him into the cushions of her grandma chair.

Alois did not blame the kid for sitting exactly where he'd been placed. "Sit up straight!" Imogen snapped, scrutinizing the boy's posture. Again, to his credit he didn't dawdle and immediately ironed out his spine with his hands placed firmly in his lap. "Take that ridiculous rag off your face, you stupid boy."

He hesitated and was rewarded with another crack of Imogen's cane. That got him moving again.

Once the mask was off Alois realised he'd misjudged the boy's age. He'd assumed the young man to be going on his twenties but looking at him now he couldn't have been older than sixteen or seventeen. He had a mop of orange hair, messy and clearly in need of trimming. A long face, currently fixed in an expression of terrified bewilderment.

Wasn't this how horror stories started? Attempting to steal from an old lady only to discover she was a secret serial killer? Poor kid must have been scared out of his mind. Not that Alois could fault him there.

"That's better." Imogen snorted in approval. "Need a haircut and a bit of sunlight, but we could make a respectable young man of you yet. Alois." He snapped to attention once Imogen's voice turned on him. "Set the jug on, would you?" He didn't bother to question Imogen at this point. If she wanted tea she was going to get it and he'd rather not waste her time and risk a strike of her cane himself.

"Now, runt. Did you attack this young man here?" Imogen asked directly and her eyes narrowed in on the boy as he quickly shook his head – no. "Hmpf." Imogen didn't seem sold and again looked at Alois for confirmation.

"Honest, Im. He didn't. I just heard a noise and came to check on you – found him trying to make off with your gold cups." Perhaps he should have kept that part to himself as he heard the cane once again strike the boy who yelped just like every other time.

Rolling his eyes, Alois finished preparing the water for Imogen's tea. He knew what cups she liked to use. It had been difficult figuring out what ones were actually drinking cups and which were purely there for Imogen's amusement. She'd even assigned him his own cup, it was a horrible looking thing. Tacky and cheap with a wave shape for a handle and a dolphin around the curve of the cup. Honestly he cringed just looking at it but she wasn't going to let him use anything else.

While he quietly made the tea, using his own cup and Imogen's favourite, Alois listened to Imogen scolding the boy on her lounge. If the soft sniffles were anything to go off the boy had given up the fight to remain composed. Imogen didn't feel much sympathy for easy criers, all the best of luck to the poor kid.

He'd just finished putting a disgustingly large glob of honey into Imogen's cup when the woman's sharp tongue finally softened. Alois entered the living room to see Imogen patting the nameless boy's shoulder in a manner that was at least attempting to be comforting but from where he stood it seemed patronizing.

Looking up Imogen immediately noticed Alois had returned with only two mugs.

"Sorry, miss Imogen." Alois apologized before she could start scrutinizing him. "I need to get going. I'm…heading out of town for a while."

He shouldn't have been here to begin with and after having come to see what he'd been hoping for, it was time to return to Metropolis like Luthor's disgruntle lapdog. It was only the thought of once again being able to see Nanna that softened the blow.

"Matchstick boy." Imogen began, pulling out one of the many 'nicknames' she applied to him on a daily basis. "You look absolutely terrible. Where on earth could you plan on going besides hospital? Which I know you never do."

Smiling ruefully Alois offered up a small shrug of surrender. He had no immediate rebuttal to that, the hospital was no place for him. Imogen had tried to usher him off there once or twice in the past and every time his hysterical pleading to go anywhere else had stayed her hand. He might not get so lucky if his small injuries escalated to broken bones.

"Sorry, ma'am. But I'm expected out of town."

"Some nice young thing waiting for you?" Imogen huffed in incredulity. "I don't believe it." Well she wasn't entirely wrong. Luthor was hardly  _nice_. But he would be expecting Alois all the same. "Who did this to you, boy?" Imogen continued, eyeing his current disheveled state. "Somebody in need of a lesson on common decency?"

"No, ma'am." Alois laughed, wincing a bit as his ribs throbbed in his chest. "They're not a problem anymore."

It was a stupid thing to say and Imogen's sharp eyes seemed to dig into him at the poor choice of wording. Alois decided he had to leave before she needled him for more information.

"Just tell me this, Alois." Oh dear, his real name. That couldn't mean anything good. "Were they a bad person?"

Imogen, for all the things she was, had never been a snitch type and provided he didn't decide to take up a hobby of killing or causing trouble, she wouldn't rat him out to anyone. She valued him more highly than some stranger responsible for roughing him up.

"The worst." He answered without hesitation. "They were…they  _hurt_  my brother."

Huffing Imogen whipped her can towards the door and made a vague gesture for him to scram. "Well off with ya then. To that imaginary girlfriend of yours. And you watch yourself out there, understand me?"

Alois didn't feel the need to defend himself in that regard and only rolled his eyes with a small amused smile. "Yes, ma'am." He tossed one more glance over his shoulder at the boy on Imogen's lounge. He'd managed to dry some of those tears and now with tea in his hands, he was going to be subjected to a few more hours of Imogen's prying.

He left them to it. Perhaps Imogen would knock some sense into the young man and stop him from accidentally trying to rob the wrong person and ending up with a black eye to show for it. As a best-case scenario.

Stilling smiling, Alois shuffled his sorry self out of his neighbor's apartment and back to his own den. Now that Imogen knew he'd be out of town there was no need to be worried about inadvertently scaring her with his sudden absence.

Alois planned to grab just one thing from his room before embarking on the journey back to Metropolis. If he was going to be hiding out there for an extended amount of time he needed that book.

It hadn't been touched in months despite having been in easy reach during all that time. Alois cringed as the dust around the book shifted and flew into the air as his fingers gathered it up. This spot was the only place Alois allowed and tolerated dust to settle, simply because most days he dare not even risk looking in its direction.

The last time he'd spared it so much as a passing thought was during that foul business that went down at the Flash's home. The same business that brought the bat bearing down on his door. At the time, he'd allowed this book to go undisturbed which lead Alois to believe that perhaps he already knew what it was.

The thought of the bat jostled Alois back into the motion as something not entirely unlike guilt tugged at the back of his mind. He could see it very clearly in his mind, the moment that his poison leapt off of Batman's body and attacked Superman. An invisible murderer and Alois waited for the day that its actions – his actions – would bring about the earth shattering news that Superman had died.

How unfortunate that the great privilege of killing a world's savior would fall to him.

A frown tugged at the corners of Alois's mouth and without thinking about it, he cradled the book to his chest. Crushing its hard surface against him, even as its sharp corners dug into his still tender flesh, Alois only clutched it tighter. It hurt and somewhere along the way Alois couldn't tell the difference between the pain that was physical and the pain that lay elsewhere.

Everything would be alright. Not in the way the pages under his fingers said they would be, but surely they would find a way. Happy endings were so childish that Alois couldn't help but desperately wish for them to be real.

It was time to go.

Back to the world where he was a soon to be mass murderer, and the story book hero did not exist.

Except just as Alois slipped the book into the single bag he owned, a shadow fell across him. He did not freeze in a panic or stop to look at what has cast the looming figure. Instead, as panic rushed icy cold through his veins, Alois sprinted.

A fool would have looked. But of course a fool would have also invoked the ire of the monstrous man to begin with. Alois did not stop to consider which of those two unfortunate souls were worse off, nor which he would have rather been in that moment. Flinging himself over the railing of the stairwell, Alois let himself fall towards the ground, preemptively flinching as the floor rushed up to greet him. His light beams caught him and slowed the decent enough that he gained no more lasting injuries but those already littering his body screamed in protest.

Ignoring the aching all across his body Alois took off again. Behind him he could hear the heavy flutter of fabric as the man in the shadows uncoiled and followed after him. Again he did not look back, did not risk the glance over his shoulder to catch sight of the large expanse of black wings. Rather than risk that momentary peek freezing him in place with fear, this fool continued to run. He made it to the door and felt a small thrill of relief as it flew open the moment he slammed his palm against it.

It was a moment of uncertainty that made him hesitate once outside the door. Flicking anxiously between continuing to run and thinking that maybe he could block the door to try and keep the beast at bay for a few seconds longer. In a snap decision Alois tried to manage both, his legs carried him further away from the building while his beams shot up from the ground to block the door.

The sound of glass shattering was his first indication that simply barring a door would do him no good.

Just as the rest of the world was beginning to be drowned out by the pounding in his head and his vision narrowed to a single point of what he hoped was escape, Alois felt the first blow strike him across the shoulder. It was sharp and yanked Alois's whole body off balance. With a cry that was equally terrified and pained, Alois stumbled off his feet. His shoulder hit the ground first, followed by his knees and then finally his palms as he desperately tried to hurl himself back up. He couldn't stop for even a second or the man would be on him.

However the scent of rust rose up around him and in a moment of blind panic Alois risked a glance at his shoulder. The material of his shirt was torn and he could see the first drops of rosy red blood beading to the surface. Part of his mind, the part that was almost entirely smothered by the rest of his fear, knew exactly what had struck them.

It did little to ease his mounting dread.

Scrambling back up, Alois attempted to run again. His body was still so sore, the memory of his tussel with another monster still fresh in his mind. Even without Luthor's thorough testing or the yellow demons incredible ferocity – Alois would have been unable to conjure up a half decent construct to protect himself with. Not when the one stalking him was so painfully familiar and even more terrifying.

Never before had Alois been hunted by him. The thought had crossed his mind in the past of course. The fleeting consideration for what it would be like, how he would handle it. Now he knew the answer – he was pathetically, and hopelessly outclassed. Even escaping was outside of his abilities.

And now here he was, staggering towards the only shelter he could see in any vague direction that might have offered escape. He should have known better than to venture down the alleyway – should have known better than to allow the Bat into a more familiar hunting ground.

"You're coming with me."

Alois could taste the fear as it took him in a strangle hold. He tripped inelegantly as he backed away from Batman as fast as his shaky legs could manage.

There was no where left to run and Alois found himself pressed flat against the wall behind him, staring up at the looming figure of the bat. He might not have been a particularly good criminal, but as of that moment he fully understood the fear that rushed through the criminals that lingered in Gotham's streets.

If there were ever a figure that could inspire repentance through fear – it was the one in front of him now. All he could do was cover his head and hope that his punishment wouldn't leave too many broken bones.

But it never came. Instead there was a blast of chilly air that rushed past Alois's body, very nearly icing his skin with how close it glided by. However while it left Alois unharmed, the full force of the blast struck the bat, who had, understandably, not been expecting to be shot with a cold gun.

"Kid!" Alois tentative lowered his arms, cracking one eye open as if not quite ready to believe what he'd heard.

But sure enough, there was Cold, standing there with his gun still raised and looking geared to fire a second shot if the bat retaliated.

Unlikely, Alois realized with a glance at the figure that had been threatening him, Batman was stuck in a large chunk of ice. Neither of the men were willing to see how long it would take the most resourceful man on earth to break free of it.

"Hurry up!" Cold demanded and Alois quickly scrambled out of the corner to join his unlikely savior. He had a hundred questions on his tongue as he reached out to grab hold of Cold's arm – a small desperate grab that was entirely reflex.

It must have surprised Cold because he briefly looked down at the point of contact but surprisingly didn't throw Alois off him. Instead the older criminal simply grabbed Alois by that same arm and began to drag him the hell out of there. They wouldn't have much time to vanish and they needed to be gone before the bat could track them back down.

"Trust you to get mixed up with that one. What did you even  _do_?" Cold was cursing under his breath but Alois didn't have the presences of mind to retort. To even feel insulted for that matter. He was too busy staring up at Captain Cold with an unabashedly awed gaze.

Cold caught that expression when they stopped. Hugged close to a back ally wall, taking a moment to catch their breath and see if the bat had reemerged. When Cold thought they'd gotten away for now he muttered something about a safe house before catching Alois's stare.

"What, you're confused?" Cold smirked, equal parts smug and amused. "Quid pro quo, right? Now we're square."

For a split second Alois can do nothing more than smile up at Len, relief quashing any sense of pride that might have restricted the expression previously.

…  
…

By the time Alois found himself back in the familiar den of one of Len's favorite safe houses, he was only just beginning to feel his legs returning from their jelly state.

It was a small blessing he had not fallen on Len a number of times in the race back to safety. And although his legs were beginning to feel as though they once again had bones somewhere in there, the rest of him was still shaking.

"Clearly Gotham is an ill fit for you." Len remarked as he led the way into his hideout. Alois didn't argue the point despite having been born in Gotham; he'd rather not live there again if he could help it.

Inside the den Alois was vaguely pleased to see someone had cleaned up. He couldn't decide which of Len's crew had done it. It could be the man himself, he was meticulous when the occasion arose, but Alois dared not rule out the queen of the hive or even – on a good day – the weather wizard. However despite its tidy state Alois could tell it was being heavily lived in simply by noting the various types of oddities crammed away.

Trickster was the easiest pick.

A flash of garish colours here and there, a few toys and knickknacks stored away, even a rubix cube ended up nestled up on a shelf between some books. Alois knew better than to risk touching any of these trinkets – likely half of them were explosive in nature.

Mick was the next easiest and it did Alois's blood pressure no favours to see the places that the fire maniac had already scorched. After a successful heist most of the furniture was replaced, but that never stopped heatwave from singing all the new pieces they ordered in.

Identifying everyone else's signature oddities took a bit more prying, but sure enough there were traces of multiple rouges in every corner of the safe house. Right down to Boomerang's likely still half full beer bottles. Another irritation Alois had to bite back down. Although a little bit of his frustration leaked out as he addressed Snart.

"Cramped living I see?"

"We prefer to think of it as…" Len paused, looking for the right word as he strode past Alois towards a leather armchair. If Alois were to guess, he'd say Len had to fight for the right to call that chair  _his_. He'd never fully win of course, not with his sister around and Mirror Master ever ready to snatch it away or Boomer's constant struggle with authority. "…homey."

"So I'm sure." Alois drawled, arms crossing lazily as he watched Len with a careful gaze. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He knew better than this. Len wasn't about to save his sorry self from the bat and have nothing to say about it. He was simply waiting for Len to grace him with the knowledge of whatever it was he wanted in return for such services.

"Looking at me like that, kid. Why, you'd think I was threatening you."

It was a healthy dose of cynicism and experience that kept Alois's mouth shut. He'd wait Len out – the man loved his own voice far too much to let the silence stretch on for all that long.

"Believe what you want." Len finally announced with a careless shrug. "You busted us, I covered you. Now we're square. Simple as that." There was a small pause and then Snart's face twisted into a foul smile. "Although our being caught in the first place was your fault."

"I apologize." Alois said immediately. Back straightening sharply. "It was not my intention to—"

"Lie to me?" Cold suggested smoothly, stealing the words right out of Alois's mouth. "Ah but, kid…you did. And I can't help but wonder  _why_." Suddenly Snart was moving and Alois only just had the presence of mind to step back rather than throw every single construct at his disposal in the general direction of Snart.

He was aware that his nerves were still very highly strung and it was only that knowledge that saved him from making the mistake of attacking Snart. Had he lashed out the result would have been major frost bite or Len ending up impaled. Depending on which of them was faster on the trigger.

Alois was no gambler, but he would have put his money on Snart.

Cold went on as though the violent exchange had not almost occurred. "Can't help but wonder what stupid little thought got lodged so deep in that skull of yours that you thought you could pull something like that on me. What on earth was so incredibly important that you thought it was worth busting a job, and putting  _my_  crew in danger."

"If I told you I wanted to kill Flash you wouldn't have helped me…" Alois offered the excuse meekly.

"Damn straight I wouldn't have. And just maybe I would have talked some sense into your head before blasting it off." Len was fuming and Alois couldn't decide if the sight was fascinating or terrifying.

Between the bat, Luthor and now Len – Alois was beginning to feel as though his life was little more than various, potentially life threatening, scoldings.

Luthor…

The thought struck Alois suddenly, so sharply it was almost a physical strike to his person. Luthor's name brought with it memories and the realization that he  _should not_  be here.

He'd been so preoccupied fleeing from the bat. Getting caught up in Len's, admittedly rather daring, rescue and everything else that had come along that night. He'd, for a single incredibly foolish moment, forgotten the greatest danger currently in the room and it wasn't Snart's sharp temper.

Alois abruptly backpedaled, as far as he could from get from Len. His back collided with one of the bookshelves. Most of the books there were Snart's, a few would belong to the other rouges and absolutely none would be Mick's. Alois knew that at least one would belong to him, either forgotten or borrowed by Tricks. The youngest rouge enjoyed story books just as much as Alois and he'd been more than willing to share on the good faith that the manic would not in someway let them get caught up in an unfortunate explosion. A hefty risk on his part, considering Trickster's fondness for all things that went  _boom_.

The moment Alois's panic hit him, Len stopped talking. He stopped moving all together.

He had clearly not been expecting Alois to retreat from him quite that violently. A moment of confusion crossed the man's face and Alois could see wheels turning behind those icy eyes.

"I'm not going to ice you, kid." Snart told him evenly and Alois swore he could hear a hint of caution in the words. He could not decipher if the tone was supposed to reassure him or if it was simply a result of Len's uncertainty. Either way he came no closer to Snart. "Not today anyway, you got us out after all…"

When Snart took a step forward Alois crammed himself up further against the bookcase while looking around wildly for an exit. The way they'd come was an option but where they were now positioned meant he'd have to move closer to Len to take it. The risk felt too high and so Alois remained firmly where he was.

"Stay back." Alois barked.

Distantly he recalled telling Batman the same thing. At the time his attempts to ward the dark knight off had been halfhearted as he sat on the fence about the whole thing. Now he was vicious in his words, leaving nothing to interpretation. "It's dangerous."

Snart wasn't sick yet. Alois kept looking him over for any sign that he'd accidentally poisoned him already and found Len to be perfectly fine. He knew his poison was fast working at its finest and even if Snart hadn't been a target like Superman, he would have felt something by now for sure.

Perhaps it was his will? After all Len and the rest of his merry band of criminals had never done anything to earn Alois's ire, if anything they were one of the few groups of people on the planet that Alois spared even a passing thought.

Could that mean they were safe?

Alois clung to this hope but decided it was still not safe for Snart or any of the others to be anywhere near him. Not until the poison was out of his system. That could be years from that day but Alois refused to take a chance. Cold had saved him an exceptionally painful encounter with the bat and Alois would not repay that kindness with a poison.

"I'm not safe." Alois continued more quietly, willing Snart to hear how deadly serious he was with words alone. "I'm…I'm sick."

"Ha, only you would get so worked up of a little chill." Snart remarked but some of his smirk dimmed when Alois said nothing in return. Rethinking his earlier comment Cold looked over Alois again and found he was deadly serious. "How sick?" He asked after a moment of thought.

"Enough that it'll kill people who touch me." Alois admitted readily. Perhaps being this open with his new found weapon was foolish, but Len had to understand what was being risked just by being this close. "I need to return to Metropolis to-."

"Metropolis?" Snart interrupted with a sharp stare. "Now what exactly would you be doing in the golden city?"

Alois's breath caught in his throat as Snart's mind settled on an answer all by its own.

"Been trading souls with the devil, have we?"

"Something like that."

Snart shifted slightly. Alois watched the wheels whirling behind his eyes for a few seconds longer and could only guess at what might have been flying through the man's mind. It could have been new plots, he wouldn't put it past Cold to take something like this and find ways to twist it to his advantage. A more likely scenario was that Snart was currently running over everything he knew about the situation. About Luthor.

"You're in over your head." He eventually said. "Luthor will run circles around you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Rephrase. He  _is_  running circles around you." Snart's voice rose again, becoming sharp as he stared down the boy still pressed up against his bookshelf. "What you need isn't a vote of confidence, it's a fucking miracle."

"Hey!" Alois shouted, trying to shrink away from Snart as he approached, a safe distance be damned. "I told you to stay back. You want to die?"

Ignoring the boy's yipping, Snart stopped when he damn well decided, keeping himself at arms length. Angry as he might have been, he did believe Alois's warning. It was perhaps the only amount of trust he allowed with this one.

Alois hadn't asked for much admittedly. Just a safe place to hole up in – one that was apparently not at all safe from the batman – and the occasional case file following a series of murders about half a year ago.

In return he'd allowed Alois to work with them, allowed him to make comments and requests. Cold believed he'd been exceedingly generous in his treatment of the stray brat. Their partnership had worked out well in the past and Len had been quite happy when he was simply passing on information in exchange for cash or Intel of his own.

However that good working relationship had been tarnished by Alois's stunt with the Flash and now he was hearing that the kid had thrown himself into the deep end with a man like Luthor? They were all criminals, but Snart firmly believed that even among their ranks there were those that were honorable.

Luthor did not make that list.

He didn't care if Alois went and got himself killed. He'd ice anyone that suggested otherwise. But he didn't like the look of this situation either.

"Why?"

Alois startled at the sudden question. Peering up at Len with a healthy level of uncertainty and begrudging respect. It bordered on fear but for now Len didn't focus on that.

"Why what?" He suggested. "That's what you're thinking, right? Well how about why all of this. Why the attack on Flash, why bust us out of prison, why throw in your lot with a maniac with a bank account? What is so damn important that you'd do all thi-"

He knew.

Snart stopped cold. Staring at the miserable expression on Alois's face and the wretched state of his body, Len made the connection and suddenly it all made sense.

"Oh kid…" He murmured. "You idiot."

"You'd do the same." Alois snarled, hands balling into tight little fists. "If it were Lisa, you'd do anything. Don't look at me like I'm being unreasonable."

"You are being unreasonable!" Snart snapped back, patience all but used up on Alois by this point. "You're being reckless and more to the point,  _stupid_." He continued, gesturing over Alois in his entirety. The boy was a walking mess. In the past Alois had showed a great appreciation for appearance and liked to keep himself well dressed and groomed – now?

Well besides all of the bruises and no doubt the mountains more hidden under his ragged clothes, Alois just looked stretched thin. He'd always been pale but now Len thought he was near translucent. Haggard and clearly exhausted, Alois looked closer to dropping where he stood than he did any type of honest to god threat.

"Look are yourself kid." Snart continued, tone dropping wearily, desperate to have the idiot see some shred of rationality. "You can barely take care of yourself. Hell, you can barely stand and you spending your time outrunning bats and man men with bank accounts? Give it up, you're not strong enough for this game."

"My brother-"

"Has the Flash." Len cut in sharply. "No thanks to your efforts I might add. For all the things red might be and might not be, he sure as well will do a better job looking out for your brother than what you're doing."

Len expected more shouting, maybe some half assed attempts to justify himself. But instead Alois turned quiet for a moment, hand rubbing his shoulder idly. Len caught the motion and wondered how damaged the flesh and bone underneath Alois's clothes would be. He knew a barely hidden injury when he saw one.

"But  _I_  did it." Alois murmured after a moment of silence. "I'm the one that got rid of the monster, not Flash."

Snart wasn't going to touch that with a ten foot poll. Part of him felt the need to tell Alois it was unlikely he'd managed to do what he thought he had, just going by the monster in question and his outstanding record of not being dead when by all rights he should have been. Instead Len decided to focus on the problem at hand, talking the kid down off the figurative ledge he was currently teetering over.

It wasn't his responsibility to do so but…well Len could be bitter about it and deny the fact all he liked – but at the end of the day he might have genuinely cared if the idiot poisoned the whole damn world. Just a tiny, miniscule amount that had nothing to do with Alois himself of course. He just happened to live on this planet and preferred it to be inhabitable.

"I cannot believe we are even having this conversation. Listen here, kid…"

Len made the mistake of approaching Alois again. Perhaps he did not fully comprehend how serious Alois was when he said he could kill people simply by infecting them, or maybe the thought had just briefly slipped his mind – but it certainly hadn't shifted from Alois's and his reaction was immediate and violent.

"I said keep away from me!"

The wall of light came up so quickly that Len only had the briefest moment to register what was happening and barely a second more to try and protect himself. Snart's hands encased in ice within seconds but the impromptu shield hadn't formed enough to guard him entirely as Alois's pillar of light came barreling into him.

Len felt the bunt force of the attack smash into his side, very nearly missing his chest. The dull impact was powerful enough to still knock the wind out of Snart and send him hurdling back across the room. His legs caught the back of his favorite armchair, knocking it over but doing nothing to slow his body before it slammed flat against the wall opposite Alois. His back connected with the wall, one of his arms connecting with a photo frame and shattering the glass before he and anything that had been hung up on the wall crumbled to the ground.

A horrible sounding crack registered in the back of Snart's mind and he vaguely had the understanding that something inside of him had definitely just broken. He couldn't figure out what exactly had given under the force of the blow between his head whirling and the dull ache slowly stretching out from his right side where the light had struck him directly.

It was unusual for Snart to feel anything but cold in recent months but for the first time since he'd been gifted with powers all his own, Len felt hot. It was faint at first, deceptively warm before it began to crawl along his veins and wildly fly out of control. Soon his entire right side was searing and Len's hazy mind momentarily wondered if Mick had set him alight.

Beyond the buzzing in his head, Len could just make out the sound of words. Frantic, desperate and growing closer. He looked up, vision swimming in an attempt to make sense of the blurry world around him.

He could just make out a ghostly Alois standing a few feet in front of him, hand outstretched as if he was going to touch Len. Then he flinched and recoiled, pulling the offending hand back to his chest. He was staring down at Len, those huge blue eyes pulled wide with what looked like…were those tears Len was seeing? Alois looked positively pathetic.

Ha…the kid looked scared.

Len found this to be mildly frustrating and confusing. Hadn't he just told Alois he wasn't going to hurt him? His mind was still reeling and he wasn't able to form any coherent words to remind Alois that he was a moron for being scared. His tongue was like lead in his mouth and even if he'd been able to put the sentences together, they wouldn't have come out as anything more than a jumble of unintelligible curses.

But then the kid looked like he was trying to leave and Len gave a genuine attempt to open his mouth and tell Alois not to. No words came out, instead a low guttural sound of pain was all the rouge captain could manage. His fingers twitching as they instinctively went to his side as the fire under his skin lit up again.

Alois hesitated by the door for just a moment before vanishing from Len's line of sight. Before Alois left he caught the boy speaking, he could see Alois's mouth moving but couldn't make out the words.

Unable to think clearly, Len was left against the wall, writhing as the fire only continued to stretched further across his body. In the back of his head Len knew he'd be found by the others, more importantly he knew once they found him they'd probably try to move him. Which would mean they'd  _touch_  him and…

Sick. That was what Alois had said wasn't it?

Len's world was just starting to turn dark when the door to the hideout bust open. He could just make out Lisa's golden glow filling up the room with Sam by her side. It was all getting too foggy, but Len now knew something with startling clarity.

"Don't….touch me." He gagged out, Lisa's fingers barely inches away from his trembling body. She obeyed, not out of any sense of loyalty but because she knew that tone. Knew it was a warning given for her protection. Just like any he would have given when they were still children and their father came home with a bottle in hand.

"Only…humans. No superpowers." He continued, just able to hear his own muffled voice over the static filling up his head. Lisa's mouth was moving rapidly, swapping between speaking to him and to someone out of his line of sight. Perhaps it was Sam, maybe Mick. Len couldn't tell and didn't care when all he could see what his little sister's face pinched tight with concern.

He would have taunted her had he not been so sure she thought he was dying on them.

Len was about to protest when he felt someone foolishly lay their hands on him, he only stopped when he caught a glimpse of yellow and orange cloth – Tricks. Distantly Len was amused by this. They'd made fun of Trickster in the past – no superpowers they'd said, not nearly as cool as batman they'd said – and now it was saving Len's sorry ass. Yeah…that'd be about right.

Finally giving in to the heat and fatigue, Len's parting thought was an extremely crude and nonsensical one.

_I am going to ice that moron if he gets me killed._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me sometime.  
> http://malice-and-macarons.tumblr.com


End file.
